


And if you're in love, then you are the lucky one

by reddishues



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Childhood Trauma, Domestic Violence, Enemies to Lovers, Iwaizumi is angry, M/M, Slow Updates, Violence, but like it's animal on animal violence, everyone loves daichi, i've been watching way too much daredevil and this is the result, kind of vigilante au kind of urban fantasy au, minor animal death, saving people, sorcerers and vigilantes doing their thing, suga is tired of this bullshit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:48:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 36,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27826312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reddishues/pseuds/reddishues
Summary: Koushi exhaled, fully knowing what was about to happen. He didn’t want to argue again, but he had to make sure his stubbornness wouldn’t kill him any time soon. “Daichi, he's a murderer. A killer. He doesn't just hurt people, he kills them.”“Koushi-”“No, listen to me.” Koushi’s tone got deeper, his brown eyes as serious as they could get. “This isn't just some thief that happens to be in the way. This is a skilled fighter and, apparently, a gunman that doesn't hesitate to kill people. You have to be careful.”Daichi was about to say something back because, yes, he knew that man was dangerous, he knew that he was gravely risking his life, he knew he could die because of him, but he couldn’t let him do what he wanted. He couldn’t let him murder people, even if they deserved it.That’s not how you resolve crime, that’s how you become a killer.Or, the Marvel-y vigilante au where Daichi is a dumbass, Iwaizumi doesn't know what feelings are and their friends are tired.
Relationships: Azumane Asahi/Ojiro Aran, Iwaizumi Hajime/Sawamura Daichi, Kita Shinsuke/Sawamura Daichi, Kuroo Tetsurou/Oikawa Tooru, Kuroo Tetsurou/Sawamura Daichi, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Past Relationship(s) - Relationship
Comments: 16
Kudos: 31





	1. Chapter 1

“Bang.”

A bullet striked through his skin, piercing his muscles, at the height of his hip. He hissed in pain, trying desperately to land on his feet before the man in front of him could get a better shot.

Despite what his body could have done on solid ground, he took the shot in mid-air. There was no safe ground he could land on. He fell down, over the counter of the roof, as cold and sharp air brushed against his cheeks and between his hair. 

He knew what was next for him if he didn’t think of a way to soften his landing from a seventy-five feet tall building, and he wasn’t looking forward to it. He looked around him, forcing his eyes to stay open and spot everything that was around him. Chimney, another roof, nightlights, metallic stairs, his sticks. Nothing he could use to soften his landing. 

_ Figure something out, c’mon _ , he repeated in his head, over and over again, as the roof underneath the one he fell from became closer and closer.

With a quick, fluid movement, he curled up and forced his body to roll over the roof of the building that was just a little more than thirty-six feet tall. He felt his bones screaming from the pain, his heart pumping out of his chest, his brain forming prayers to gods he didn’t even know existed, his lungs giving him as much oxygen as they could, his ribs cracking, his new wound burning as the bullet squished more and more against his organs.

Don’t fall over.

Don’t fall over. 

Don’t fall over,  _ dammit _ . 

The chant in his head was halfway between a prayer and a reminder to his own broken, tired, rolling body.  _ You can’t take another fall like this, don’t act like you’re not human. _

His back hit the counter with a loud thump, pushing him slightly in the opposite direction with a couple of more rolls, finally stopping with his back on the ground.

The man grunted, first checking if all his bones were still there. His hand passed over every rib on his chest, pushing ever so lightly just to check if they were broken or not. 

Just three. Lucky.

“Get up.”

A voice that wasn’t his caught his attention, but he knew fairly well that it was just in his head by now. It was soothing, gentle and kind, yet strong and severe. It felt like the sun after a strong rainstorm, warm and cold, strong enough to sweep away the rain, but still too weak to warm up everything around it.

His mother’s voice.

His  _ dead _ mother’s voice.

With a low growl, bones aching and organs pleading him to stay down, his body got itself up, a hand pressed against the wound that was still fresh and quite bloody. He risked bleeding out with an injury like that, so he had to think clearly and quickly. How could he stop the bleeding? Was the other man still there? Were there other people around? Did the cops show up? Where could he get help and rest?

His mind went through every question as swiftly as it could, while his slow steps started to speed up on their own. A phone. He had to find a phone. He had to call someone, preferably a doctor that wouldn’t take him to the hospital. There would have been too many people there, too many questions, too little secrets.

Asahi. He needed Asahi. Where was his place? Was he near wherever he was?

“Dude.” Finally, a familiar, real voice. “Are you that stupid?”

He turned towards the man, grey hair and hazel eyes standing out in the night. The injured man rolled his eyes before speaking. “Yeah, I just like to be shot at.”

“I hate your sarcasm. Where are you hurt?”

“Koushi, I fell from the roof. I’m hurt everywhere.”

The gray haired man came closer, offering a shoulder he could rely on. He kindly let him, took a breath and quickly glanced over to the building he fell from, searching for the man he had to go against. 

The one who hurt him this much. 

It looked like he was gone, but he didn’t let his guard down either way. He could still be there, somewhere, anywhere. He could be hiding, he could be waiting for him somewhere, he could-

“You’re overthinking everything again, aren’t you, Dai?”

“No.” He lied. “Why are you here?”

Koushi huffed and shrugged, like it was just answering a normal question. Unluckily, Daichi perfectly knew that he was about to tell a lie. A big one. “Passing by.”

“Koushi.” Daichi’s voice was deeper, like every other time he scolded him.

“Alright! I was following you.” He let out a groan, tightening a bit his grasp on the other man just to be sure he wouldn’t fall. “You had that look.”

Daichi raised an eyebrow, obviously confused. “What look?”

“You know… The ‘I want to do the best thing but it could kill me so I need you to stay away from me and let me risk my life again’ look.”

“How do I even have that look?”

“You just do?” Koushi said, tentatively, trying to explain decently what he was thinking.

Daichi tried to look at him as he talked, he really did, but his head was dizzy, his legs were heavier at every step he took, his pain was getting worse and worse. He was sure that at some point there were some stairs down the roof, some more walking and a door being opened, but he was too far gone into the pain and hurt inside his own head to figure it out or to even care.

Then, the ground got way too close to his face and his body was way too heavy for him to stay on his feet.

\---

If there was something Daichi hated, it was sleeping. Every time he slept, there was the possibility he could have dreamt of that night, every single detail resurfacing just to remind him why he chose to have such a dangerous night job.

The dream was always the same, but the colour of some elements was different. This time, the blood on the floor of the living room in the poor lightning of the room looked pitch black. Daichi looked at the man with an horrified look, just one second before he ran out of the door, taking with him everything he could find. Daichi had never liked him, so he let him go, without saying a word or doing something to stop him.

Daichi’s gaze trailed to the pool of blood near the wooden table that was starting to stop spreading like a lingering, knowing presence. He felt his body stand up, hesitantly walking towards it. 

Towards her.

He crouched into the blood, feeling his pants getting soaked, trying not to puke for the smell of death and blood all around him, ignoring the sticky sensation of the blood on his hands. His palms, as tiny as he can remember, rested on her face, trying to get a good look at it. Her cheeks were white, the skin around her left eye was purple, her eyes were empty, her lower lip was broken, there was blood all over her auburn hair. 

It looked like a gruesome painting that should have never seen the light.

Suddenly, he needed to cry. He never felt the need to do it, he always used it as a defensive mechanism, avoiding his so-called-father’s beatings, getting the teachers to leave him alone when he didn’t want to talk, making other people feel guilty when they brought up his family after he expressly told them not to. He was good at crying, but he never genuinely  _ needed _ to do it, not after his mother asked him not to.

“Mom?” He called out, his little voice trembling with every tiny breath he took. “Mom.” He repeated, more steadily, as he tucked the woman’s dark hair behind her ears. It was something she used to do for him whenever he was scared, before saying goodnight and wishing him to sleep soundly and right after his substitute father came home. 

Daichi waited for a couple of minutes, lips trembling, quiet sobs leaving his throat, hands unsteady on his mother's cheeks, tears burning against his skin, piercing through every piece of composure he still had left, eardrums beaming, ignoring the neighbours chattering out of the door, probably talking again about their little broken family.

It was ugly, dirty and horrifying all at the same time. Daichi felt anger, sadness, frustration, fear and desperation build up inside him, inhaling the last memory he had of his mother like his own life depended on it, whispering quick apologies for everything he didn’t do, everything he failed to accomplish.

And then, he woke up.

He found himself panting, grasping for air, clinging to someone smaller than him as he tried to figure out where he was. The room wasn't big, decorated with plants and drawings related to nature in some way, a few birds on some of the books that decorated it, made it look alive. It all looked like some place underground, where the light couldn't reach. 

Somehow, the thought made him feel even more endangered than before. 

He looked around his surroundings, specifically trying to understand where he stood. He felt something soft under his skin, recognizing it as a mattress. The bed he apparently was on was comfortable, soft, but without sheets.

A fresh breath of cold air brushed against his skin and he instantly realized he was half naked. From the waist up, he didn't have clothes, and the injuries he seemingly still had burned through his skin, as if someone was trying to stick a hand in them and fix it from the inside out.

At that point, Daichi could be very well freaking out. He was in a place he didn't know, half naked and with someone looking literally through his skin. The situation wasn't ideal, especially since that tremendous fall and the bullet stuck in his hip caused him nothing but pain and wouldn't let him think straight. 

His mind echoed with memories right after he got up on that roof, when he was trying to reach some place safe, talking to Koushi about... 

Oh.

“Asahi?” Daichi asked tentatively, trying to stop his body from shaking. It wasn’t noticeable, but he didn’t want neither of the two people in that room to think he was vulnerable in any way. He wasn’t, he didn’t want to be, not right now. Not after he was reminded of the greatest regret in his life by his own mind.

His warm voice came after a few seconds, probably asking Koushi– who had to be the one he was clinging to– if it was fine to do so. “I’m here.”

Daichi opened his mouth to say something to Koushi, but the only thing he could master to get out of his throat was silence. Koushi must have noticed it, because he pushed him down on the bed and gave him some water in a metallic bottle. The man chuckled at the sight, just thinking that Asahi’s priority wasn’t living, but making everything else live, including nature. Truly a gentle giant at heart.

“His place was closer.” Koushi explained, sitting down on a wooden chair next to him. “And he’s a healer.”

“He’s a sorcerer who is capable of healing people.”

“It doesn’t really make a difference.”

“It doesn’t make it sound like we’re in a fantasy novel.”

“Sorcerer isn’t really a non-fantasy term either, Dai.” Koushi pouted, taking the water back from Daichi’s hand. “Our lives are just fucked up that bad.”

Daichi nodded, silently agreeing with him. Their lives  _ were _ fucked up, there was no way around it, but he wouldn’t want it any other way. Despite him trying not to think too much about it, he enjoyed hitting people that deserved it, he enjoyed feeling the adrenaline in his blood every time he jumped from a building to another, he enjoyed the very thought that he was actually helping people.

“Daichi?” Asahi finally stood up, stepping toward the other two. He didn’t change from the last time Daichi saw him; he still had his long, auburn hair with the usual green tips, his plant tattoo on his cheek was the same, maybe just with a few more leaves decorating it, and he looked relaxed, even if he could see the concern on his face. His heavy and gentle hand rested on Daichi’s shoulder, trying to make him focus on what he was saying.

Speaking with Koushi was easy. The man understood him without the need for him to explain what he meant, he always understood what was going on in his head. They grew up together, after all, even before his mother died. He was the only person he trusted beside his mother then, he’s the person he’d risk everything he has for now.

“How are you feeling?” Asahi asked, as slowly and clearly as he could.

“A little dizzy. Why?”

“You had three broken ribs, one of which was about to seriously hurt your left lung, a gunshot wound that’s still healing itself and your back took a pretty heavy hit.” He listed every single issue he encountered while he was healing him, most of which Daichi already knew about. Asahi continued to talk, trying to keep the injured man's eyes on him, talking as calmly as he could. “I wasn't able to completely repair everything, though. My magic still isn't that strong to completely make you feel your average self, so we called someone who will help you better than I can.”

Daichi raised an eyebrow, slightly confused. Asahi wasn't that powerful because he took up healing pretty recently, he knew that, but why were he and Koushi that sure of contacting someone else to cure him? 

“Who?” He asked, maybe way too curious for his own well-being.

Asahi smiled warmly, tracing small circles on his shoulder in an attempt to calm him down. “A trustful sorcerer.”

Daichi snorted, but let the discussion fall there. If Asahi didn't want to tell him who they called, then he'll just meet the person when they would arrive.

Asahi looked at him particularly concerned, because of course he was. It was uncommon to see Daichi injured this much; he was cautious, even if he had his fair share of scars and broken bones. “Who even put you in this state?”

“A guy.”

“A guy?”

“The new shooting guy.” Koushi answered for him. “How do they call him again?”

“The Guardian.”

“The guardian of what?”

“Common people, I think. The press wanted to call him with another, gruesome name, but it would have caused a ruckus.”

Of course the press wanted a gruesome name. The guy was dangerous for everyone in power, the government wanted to scare people away, but a good part of the population in Tokyo acclaimed him. Some of them loved him, even, for killing the worst of the worst.

“Is he that good?” Asahi asked, looking at Daichi as he was trying to get his body to sit up.

Every single bone in his body was screaming, his brain telling him to lay down and rest, probably because Asahi's magic was still working to fix every little thing he broke inside his body.

Koushi pushed him down again, gently, but Daichi couldn't help but huff. He looked at Asahi again, trying to form some words to explain what happened on that roof. 

“I just made a mistake. He caught me in mid-air, you can't really control your body up there.”

“You should be more careful.” Koushi replied, worry as clear as day in his brown eyes. Daichi knew he couldn't help it, even if he wasn't too thrilled about knowing that he was concerned about his well-being more than anyone else.

After all, they grew up together, in the same four walls, for a long time. They considered one another as brothers, even if Daichi didn't quite let go of his last name. He couldn't just forget his past, not after everything he and his mother went through. 

He didn't  _ want _ to forget it.

Daichi nodded, voice as soft as he possibly could. “I know.”

“What were you doing in the first place, going after him like that?”

“Curiosity.”

Koushi let out one of his weird sounds, similar to what you can hear when someone doesn’t answer correctly in a quiz show on tv. “Wrong.”

“He was hurting people and I wanted to stop him. That's all.” Daichi huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. He was annoyed, it was pretty obvious to both Koushi and Asahi, but not just because he was on a bed, in pain, unable to move. He hated having to explain himself to people, especially regarding his night job. 

It was clear right from the start that he enjoyed working with other people and valuing their opinions, but the moment he acted alone, he was as stubborn as a mule. There have been various occasions in which he had to argue with Koushi regarding his decisions and his not very healthy and safe lifestyle.

This one was just another point to the list.

Koushi exhaled, fully knowing what was about to happen. He didn’t want to argue again, but he had to make sure his stubbornness wouldn’t kill him any time soon. “Daichi, he's a murderer. A killer. He doesn't just  _ hurt _ people, he  _ kills _ them.”

“Koushi-”

“No, listen to me.” Koushi’s tone got deeper, his brown eyes as serious as they could get. “This isn't just some thief that happens to be in the way. This is a skilled fighter and, apparently, a gunman that doesn't hesitate to kill people. You  _ have _ to be careful.”

Daichi was about to say something back because, yes, he knew that man was dangerous, he knew that he was gravely risking his life, he knew he could die because of him, but he couldn’t let him do what he wanted. He couldn’t let him murder people, even if they deserved it. 

That’s not how you resolve crime, that’s how you become a killer.

But he couldn’t say any of it, since a certain someone made himself known in the room. “Uh, I'm sorry to intrude. I'm here for Sawamura.”

The voice made Daichi snap his head to the right, towards the door. There stood a man with pitch black bed hair, looking as if he had just woken up, and dressed with a red shirt, black jacket and black jeans, ripped on various points. His glowing, yellow eyes looked first at Koushi, then moved to Daichi, whom first instinct was to punch him on his nose and wipe that annoying smirk out of his face.

“Why did you call him here?” Daichi asked, thoroughly annoyed, avoiding to look at the newcomer any more than needed. 

Koushi sighed. “We told you. We don't know what you did and Asahi's powers are limited. Hence your dark magic sorcerer ex-boyfriend.”

That’s exactly why he didn’t like it. Kuroo Tetsurou wasn’t good news most of the time, but he was a skilled sorcerer and Daichi really needed to feel his muscles again.

Unlike popular belief, dark magic sorcerers weren’t weird or evil or looking for power, they were either really good at consorting with minor dark forces or were said minor dark forces. In Kuroo’s case, he was just skilled in talking with evil spirits and demons and he had a little help as to what to do at the most opportune times, for his own sake.

Daichi glanced down, to Kuroo’s left, and he saw it. He didn’t remember its name, but that black cat was definitely his familiar. The first time he saw it, it was as big as a panther and had red stripes all over its body, red eyes glowing in the night.

It was terrifying.

Looking at it like that, though, it was almost… cute. It was small, with bright green eyes and black fur, licking its paw mindlessly, not caring about anything going on around it.

Kuroo must have noticed Daichi was staring at the cat, because he smirked and started to tease him. “She misses you, you know.”

“I hate this.” Daichi groaned, throwing his head on the bed, exhausted. For the pain or the man's attitude, he still had to decide.

“I don't.” Kuroo smirked with a mischievous expression. So, more teasing. “How's your elbow?”

“My elbow is going to break your nose if you don't hurry up and disappear.”

“That bad? Damn. It's a shame you weren't this snappy three years ago.”

“Do you want me to dislocate your shoulder again?”

Kuroo took a step back, raising his hands in defeat. They both knew what Daichi was hinting at, and neither of them wanted to have a rerun of that, especially the sorcerer. Daichi smiled at the memory, accidentally thinking that Kuroo was someone that wanted to kill him and ending up dislocating his right shoulder. He couldn't perform magic for a month.

The sorcerer got close again, letting the familiar jump on the bed, careful enough not to brush against Daichi's body, and starting to take a look at the man.

His eyes trailed along the wound, then to his chest, then to his arms and legs.

“What even happened to you?”

“The guardian guy shot me in mid-air.”

“Well, he's good.” He placed a hand right above the gunshot wound, moving it in small circles as his palm started to show a reddish glow, way too similar to the blood's dark red shade. Kuroo looked at it more closely, almost studying it. “Yeah, this is a really nice trajectory.”

Daichi groaned in exasperation. He hated being studied like that, but he couldn't do much about it. The sooner they'd be finished and the sooner he could go home and sleep.

Without Kuroo, preferably.

“Shut up and do your job.” Daichi snapped, as he felt a stinging pain on his side. It lasted a moment, then it was gone and he didn't even feel the pain of the wound anymore.

Like he said, Kuroo was bad news, but he was a good sorcerer, ex-boyfriend or not.

“Fine, fine.” He laughed, moving the hand to his chest. “But no parkour for a couple of days, got it?”

“Yeah. Hurry up now.”

“Yessir.”

Daichi relaxed as much as he could, letting the other touch every little ounce of his body. He couldn't say he hated it, but it was quite painful since, every time Kuroo placed a finger on any kind of injury, he pushed all the way to his bones to feel if they were broken.

It wasn't news, though. The sorcerer cured Daichi countless times, even before they started dating. He had found him in a dumpster, half dead already, and saved his life. Since then, they became great friends, their past dating situation aside.

Granted, Kuroo never was a kind caretaker– or a caretaker at all.  _ “Stop whining, big baby. Your bones aren't even broken this time,” _ he used to say, after Daichi pushed him off with a kick to the shin– that, for the record, was justified, since he had to endure an annoying, mad sorcerer trying to break his bones.

_ “They will be, if you keep it up,” _ Daichi usually responded, with a full blown pout on his face.

It was almost fun, if only Daichi wasn't the one who had to suffer through Kuroo's endless teasing and painful "cures".

As a matter of fact, Kuroo's magic wasn't as pure as Asahi's, but that could have meant a lot of things. Firstly, that he was playing with fire with every new spell he tried. Secondly, it was immensely powerful, much more than ordinary light magic. Thirdly, it hurt like a bitch.

“Sawamura. Stay still.” Kuroo said, with a tone similar to the one he used back then.

Daichi didn't know how he felt about that, but it wasn't as negative as he expected. In fact, it was quite refreshing, maybe even almost comforting.

Almost.

As a response, he decided to let out a pained moan, which attracted everyone's attention. It wasn't his intention, of course, but Kuroo's face was worth the slight embarrassment. His yellow eyes were blown out of their orbits, his mouth slightly open, his hands stopped moving and stayed a few centimeters above Daichi's skin.

Daichi smirked, way too proud of his accomplishment. “What, cat got your tongue?”

There was silence for a few seconds, no one knowing how to react to that, until Koushi bursted out laughing. 

“Way to go, Dai!”

“He kind of asked for it.” Asahi chimed in, chuckling softly as well.

That made Koushi laugh even harder, for some reason. Everyone knew his humor wasn't the best, but it was hard not to laugh with him when he sounded so peaceful and childlike.

Asahi started to laugh a bit more freely, although he was still feeling bad for Kuroo. Just because of that, he tried to say something between a laugh and the other. “Suga, don't hurt Kuroo's feelings.”

Kuroo seemed like he was ignoring the two, opting for looking at Daichi with a shocked expression. No words coming to him, waiting for Koushi and Asahi to move out to gain back their senses. 

“That was low, Sawamura.” He finally whispered, a small annoyed expression making its way on his face. “Even for you.”

Daichi smirked. “Can't believe it, I made the great Kuroo Tetsuro speechless. It isn't a bad day, after all.”

“I can still break your bones, you know.”

“You won't.”

“Probably. But I could.”

“I trust you not to do it. Betray that trust and I'll make sure you'll pay.”

Kuroo huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked at the other man, utterly confused, before cracking a melancholic smile. “You're creepy, you know that?”

Daichi remembered that smile, despite the amount of time he spent trying so desperately to forget it. That smile was the way Kuroo expressed his feelings, whether good or bad. His words or tone of voice never matched what he wanted to say, Daichi knew that perfectly, but it did take a while to learn what it meant.

_ “Why are you so serious about this? Relax,” _ he'd said once too many times, with that weird smile on, whenever Daichi was getting ready to crawl back in his own apartment feeling miserable and useless.

At the beginning, he had thought it was because he was teasing him, because he didn't know how much he could and couldn't push before crossing the line. He always got angry, deepening his voice time and time again, until the sorcerer left the room disappointed and defeated.

With time, though, Daichi discovered that smirk meant something different each time. Sometimes it was there because he was tired, other times it meant something else. In the case of that first time he used it, it meant that he did good even if he wasn't feeling like it. 

That smile alone kept him going for a few months, after he started to grasp its meaning.

“Thanks.” He just whispered, a little louder than a breath, but he wasn't even sure Kuroo heard him.

The sorcerer didn't give signs of the contrary, though, and just continued with his work. Daichi kept a couple of screams trapped in his throat, trying so hard not to move, giving Kuroo all the time he needed to make sure his body would heal.

He needed it, he had to go against that man again, he needed to defeat him or, at least, repay him of the fall. He wouldn't kill him, he'd just make sure he'd have the same amount of bruises he did.

Deep in thought, he didn't even notice the little black cat getting comfortable between his left side and arm, curling up as soon as Kuroo was finished with his injuries. Daichi mindlessly started to pet it too, still trying to remember something important from his battle with the guy. 

He just remembered almost nothing, since he used a hiding spell to cover his face. It was common among vigilantes that never really fanced the mask and had sorcerers as friends, able to perform the actual spell and make it work. The face wasn't visible to anyone but the user and the sorcerer who casted it, and it was incredibily useful to avoid confrontations with the police, getting caught on cameras and keeping your identity a secret.

Although, even knowing these were the facts, did he really not get his hair colour, skin colour, the sound of his voice, his stature or-

His eyes were green. His eyes were bright, glassy green, shining bright in the night too. He just got a quick glimpse of them due to the spell starting to fade out but… but they were there. He remembered them.

Daichi was fairly sure his hair was dark too, but he didn't know if it was dark brown, black or some other color he couldn't figure out in the darkness of the night.

“How's our stubborn leader?” Koushi's voice came, disrupting his thoughts. He'd get there again later, when he'd be alone, trying to figure out a way to get his brain to work as he wanted to.

“He's fine,” Kuroo chimed in before Daichi could say anything, “he just needs sleep. The injuries took a toll on his body, and my magic will be hard to sustain if he doesn't rest more than usual.”

Koushi pointed a finger at him, pushing a bit on his chest, enough for Daichi to fall back on the bed. “Sleep!”

“That's… not how it works, Koushi.”

“It never works, you sleep three hours a night and I have to deal with the consequences.”

“They aren't that big.”

“Yeah?” Koushi smiled with that grin that meant Daichi was going to suffer from whatever he was about to say. He sighed, leaning back, listening to what he wanted to embarrass him with this time. It would be painful and he wouldn't be able to stop him, simply because no one could stop Sugawara Koushi when he wanted to do or say something. Daichi usually praised that ability of his, except he hated when he used that on him.

“Remember that time in college when-”

“Koushi…”

“You fell asleep while you were asking a question-”

“Koushi.”

“And I had to come there and explain you had a night job with me! It was funny, though, you were all red and embarrassed-”

“Koushi!”

Kuroo waved him off, a giant smirk on his face. “No, go on.”

“It is quite entertaining.” Asahi turned towards Daichi, bowing his head slightly, excusing himself. “Sorry, Daichi.”

“I'm going home.” 

Daichi gently pushed off the kitten still asleep next to him and sat up, forcing himself to jump off the bed. He grabbed some clothes Asahi always had in case of emergencies and waved at his friends, without turning back.

Honestly, if he did, all he would have witnessed would have been his dear friends laughing at him for some weird thing he did in the past he couldn't even remember, so it was better for him to think about getting home safely.

Although, he perfectly knew Koushi and Kuroo would have said something either way.

“Call a taxi!”

“Don't fuck with strangers!”

“Koushi.” Daichi called out, before turning. He couldn't help it, whenever it was him teasing, he just had to answer.

He looked at him with an innocent expression, a kind smile spread on his face. If Koushi wasn't something, that would be innocent. He had the face of an angel, but he wouldn't do anything less of a demon. “What? You did it with Kuroo. Plenty of times, I might add. I'm just looking out for my little brother, that's all.”

“Wow, thanks.” Kuroo looked genuinely offended, but Daichi didn't answer. Instead, he let Koushi handle him.

The grey haired man winked at the sorcerer, as charming as ever. “No problem.”

Daichi chuckled softly, before closing the door behind him. He still felt fuzzy and tired thanks to Kuroo's magic working to heal his injuries, barely visible red and black fog just above his skin to remind him he couldn't just parkour his way home. 

Despite how he always returned to his apartment, beaten up and bleeding with new injuries every night, he took good care of his own body. Asahi told him countless times that, if he wasn't as attentive as he was with his body, he would have probably been killed by now. 

He slept less than the mandatory six to ten hours that every normal person did, but, to be fair, he never slept more than five hours a night, even when he was a child. His father was an always present fear, and hearing his mother sobbing in the room next to his didn't help. He always ended up falling asleep around three or four in the morning, just because he couldn't sleep from the stress, even if he tried to force himself to. Reading his mother's books and his own school books were the only way Daichi could pass the time, he'd read them over and over again, until his brain shut itself off and drafted his body to sleep.

Daichi put on the black hoodie he took from Asahi a few seconds before, groaning when the fabric brushed against the new wounds on his skin. He wasn't used to Kuroo's healing anymore, but he forced his body to sustain it for a bit as he put sneakers and a pair of jeans on, not minding enough to take off his black, spandex pants.

His apartment wasn't that distant, but he was glad Asahi had the decency of taking off his boots when he was healing him. He wouldn't want to return home with a pair of boots in his hands, he'd just pass by in the morning before work to take home the rest of his clothes.

In fact, now he had something else to think about. Namely, the fight against that man no one knew the name of. He was certainly skilled, but his hand to hand combat wasn't as refined as his was. Daichi didn't remember much, it happened way too fast to remember a specific moment, but he remembered he moved swiftly and heavily at the same time. It was just a general idea, but his movements screamed strength over agility.

He was agile enough to dodge a wild number of hits on Daichi's part, but he clearly relied way more on firearms, rather than his body. Granted, even his hand to hand combat was lethal, since his hits were heavy, strong, breathtaking in the worst possible way.

For the first time in eight years, Daichi wasn't sure if he would have been able to defeat someone. He's always been confident in his skills and intelligence, enough to challenge the fiercest of people, the most powerful people, but this man… he was different, somehow. 

It felt like he could blow him away with a punch to the face.

It was ironic, really. He went against demigods, demons, aliens, every kind of super powered individual in the city and he always came up on top because they've always underestimated him. Now, though, he had to butt heads with someone with no powers, only using his fighting skills and intelligence, just like Daichi did for all these years– and he was scared shitless.

Daichi opened the door of his apartment and stepped in, inhaling every trace of domesticity he could, trying not to notice Kuroo's magic still squirming between his skin and muscles, still healing that god forsaken wound. 

He closed the door behind him, hearing it lock itself and instantly falling on the floor, panting, his back against the ground, probably for the strain he put his body through. Despite what others might have thought about his way of fighting, going all out against his opponent, it hadn't always been like this. 

At the very beginning, when he stopped parkouring for fun in his free time and effectively picked up crime fighting, he was cautious. Maybe a bit too cautious. He doesn't really remember when it all happened, when someone pushed him to follow the thoughts that lingered in his head ever since his mother died in front of him, but it happened. Daichi started to avoid holding back and he learned more and more things about fighting, parkour and how not to die while doing his night job. Granted, he lost a couple of day jobs because he prioritized it, but now he was pretty happy where he was. He could still fight at night and he could work at a close distance with marine creatures, something he always considered as just part of his dreams.

Daichi closed his eyes, inhaling the soft air around him. He focused on his breaths, feeling the injury hurt less and less, softening the sheer burning feeling lingering on his skin ever since that bullet squirmed his way in his internal organs. That breathing exercise was the same one he used to do when he was afraid something was going to happen to him or his mother, trying to calm himself for the both of them.

“Daichi?”

At the sudden call, his eyes slammed open and he jumped on his feet, ignoring his brain telling him to rest, ready to fight the intruder out of his own apartment. 

Luckily, though, he didn't have to.

“Oh, Aran.” Daichi breathed, relaxing his body. He almost forgot that he asked him to babysit Yuki, the little cat he found almost dying the day before. “Sorry it took this long.” 

The man smiled apologetically, as kindly as ever. “Don't worry, I had free time I desperately needed these days.” Aran looked down on his hip, evidently noticing Kuroo's little work still in motion. Sometimes, with how many kind smiles and thoughtful advice he gave out, Daichi forgot he worked with death daily. He was a necromancer, after all. “Did you meet Kuroo again?” He asked cautiously, not really knowing if he could enter that territory.

Daichi nodded, a tired expression making his way more and more evidently on his face. He didn't ask how he knew, Kuroo said time and time again sorcerers of any kind are able to feel different types of magic around them.

Plus, Aran and Asahi were dating. That probably was a factor too.

“Asahi and Suga called him.”

“And they're all still alive. Impressive.”

Daichi huffed, letting his body fall on the couch. He was way too tired to talk and stand, and Aran didn't care whether or not he was on his feet. “I can be civil with my ex.”

Aran half smiled at something Daichi couldn't quite figure out yet, but he looked… sad. What was he sad about? Could it be-

“Kita is still waiting for an apology, I wouldn't count on it.”

That pierced a hole inside his chest. It felt like someone just stabbed him with a spear and then toyed with his bleeding organs as he was still alive, still waiting to fully bleed out.

Like Kuroo, Kita was another reminder of just how fucked up his life got. He wasn't a vigilante, but he put his life on the line to help them either way. He was nothing but kind, gentle and warming, and Daichi pushed him away for more than two weeks now.

_ He doesn't deserve it. _

He knew it,  _ he knew it _ , but he just couldn't bring himself to talk to him. He felt vulnerable in the worst kind of way, and he hated it. It was like he had an open wound, just waiting for someone else to either close it or make it expand, all while he could just watch from afar.

Before he could notice what was going on in his head, tears shed from his eyes, the ever so familiar burning feeling against his skin making its way through his memory. Daichi felt his lower lip trembling, a few sobs trapped down his throat trying to get out.

_Not now_ , he pleaded, shutting his eyes closed and inhaling deeply, trying to calm himself as much as he could. He counted the breaths leaving his mouth, hoping Aran would still be there.

He didn't open his eyes when he spoke up again. “I'll… I'll pass by tomorrow.” He managed to spat out, still convinced it was half a miracle he truly did answer something regarding a very recent break up. There was something about letting people go, feeling them abandoning you, watching as they move on that didn't reason well with Daichi. It could be his abandonment issues, but he just hated people leaving him in general. Didn't he do enough? Did he drive them away? Did he push the wrong buttons? Didn't he get serious enough?

All these questions just made him cry again, building up even more frustration in his body. He tried to punch the cushions on the couch, but, before he knew it, Aran was sitting right next to him, steadily holding him close, a strong hand on his shoulder, tucking him against his chest.

Daichi hesitated for a second, before holding on to Aran's black and white shirt, letting the tears calmingly run down his cheeks, quietly sobbing in his friend's strong and reassuring shoulder.

Neither of them said anything, Daichi's sobs filling the room completely, until he felt a small weight on his lap. He looked down, and Yuki greeted him by brushing her tiny head against his stomach. The man smiled, starting to pet her as the purring became louder and louder. He never would have defined himself as a cat person, but that little presence did help him through everyday life.

Daichi clenched his jaw, looking towards Aran. “Is he alright?” His voice was soft, as quiet as a whisper, on the verge of cracking again.

“It's Kita Shinsuke we're talking about. He looks fine, but he probably feels miserable.” Aran's voice relaxed him more often than not. It was deep and kind, and he knew he could rely on him. 

Aran turned to him, his gaze heavy with concern. He was both Daichi's and Kita's friend, so of course he would try to mediate, try to keep them as least miserable as he could. “Keep in touch with your friends, Daichi, especially in your line of work. Kita is a medic, he can help you.”

“I know.” He did know. Kita was a skilled healer in the most scientific sense, he had a clinic all vigilantes could turn to, so they could avoid hospitals but still get the treatments they needed in order to heal. Daichi loved seeing him work, always helping everyone that opened his door, desperation turning into hope to live yet for another day. “I know.” Daichi repeated, softer, almost whispering it like a forgotten prayer.

Aran smiled, gently pushing him away and getting up on his feet. “Call him. Have a coffee. Eat something. You both look horrible.”

“Yeah.” Daichi breathed, letting out the worry he didn't know he was trying too hard not to show. “Yeah, I'll… I'll do that.”

Daichi let himself remember some of his memories with Kita, let himself feel his steady presence, his strong shoulders, his unwavering voice. He sighed, shaking his head to reality. No time to wander in something that was already over, only memories testing the fact that everything between them truly happened.

“I miss him, Aran.”

“Then talk to him. Even if you both decided to break up for your own reasons, you could remain friends.”

“Okay.” Daichi's voice was shaky, but he meant what he said. He wanted to talk to Kita again, even as a friend. 

Aran patted him on the shoulder, nodding. “I'll let you sleep now, you must be tired. But,” he took a pause, searching for the right words to use, “Kita misses you too. Don't destroy what you two still have by pushing him away.”

“I'll talk to him tomorrow.” Daichi half smiled, trying to tell him that he was doing better now. “Thanks, Aran.”

“No problem.” Aran said, even if he still looked mildly concerned. He knew that Daichi had more than one mask, even for the people closest to him, a way he had to cope with his own trauma, but he didn't ask. If he had other problems, he'd have known either way. “Have some rest.”

Daichi just nodded, already half asleep, and waved at him as he took his leave. As soon as he heard the door closing he let his back fall on the couch as well, trying not to shake the cat too much from her position. He debated for a while whether or not to keep his eyes open, if he should have actually rested or just pretended to. He ultimately opted for the latter, starting again to pet the little animal on his lap. She let out thankful and joyful purrs, sometimes pushing her tiny head on his strong fingers.

His eyes attempted to fall down and shut off, but his mind wouldn't let them. There was just too much going on in his life, he couldn't sleep right now.

His relationship with Kuroo was old, it wasn't even the main problem here, but Kita… Kita was recent. Kita was way more serious than Kuroo was. Kita was someone Daichi didn't want to let go.

He exhaled, letting his mind drift to everything he linked to that man. His gentle and steady fingertips, his piercing and kind eyes, his strong and caring voice. Everything about Kita Shinsuke was a contradiction and Daichi adored every second of it.

Granted, now he couldn't do it anymore like he used to, but it was fine. He understood why Kita would want to end it there, his reasons were more than valid, almost logical. Daichi risked his life every single day, and Kita didn't want to find him bleeding out on the couch again. He couldn't bear the thought that he could very well be dead and no one would know– or bother to let him know– if it came to that.

It was understandable, maybe too understandable, but that was Kita Shinsuke. Everything he said made sense.

Daichi stirred and took his phone, on the little table behind the couch. He looked at Kita's contact for a while, before finally deciding to call him. He knew that, if he didn't call him when he was that tired, when he couldn't act against what the rational part of his brain said, then he'd have lost him too.

“Hey, Kita,” he whispered, after hearing the voicemail, “sorry to call right now, you'll be working or sleeping, probably, but do you want to go out tomorrow? I-” Daichi trailed off for a second. “I miss you. I'd really like to see and talk to you. I'm sorry for the last two weeks, I know I'm a jerk and-”

“Yes.”

The sudden answer from the other end made him freeze, phone in his hand still, while he stopped petting Yuki.

“... Kita?” He asked tentatively, trying to ignore the fleeting feeling that arose after hearing his voice again, even if through a phone.

“I just came home. We can meet tomorrow.”

There was a long pause on both ends, Daichi still trying to contain himself when he was this tired and could have said something he didn't want to.

Kita broke it, muttering those few words Daichi longed for so desperately for the past few days. “I miss you too.” His voice was calm, soft, but somehow fragile, all together. The man never heard him this vulnerable, but it was probably because he was tired too.

And they were idiots that didn't search one another after deciding to break up but still remaining friends. That was probably the main reason.

“'Kay.” Daichi whispered, already half asleep, trying to make sure his yawn wouldn't be heard on the other end. “Thanks.”

Kita laughed warmly, probably shaking his head right after. He always did it, and Daichi grew fond of that gesture over time. “Sleep, once in a while.”

“I just-”

“I'll be fine. Sleep, Daichi.”

“Alright. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Daichi looked at the phone screen, still counting the seconds of the call. He didn't really want to hang up and, from what he was seeing, Kita didn't either. With a sigh, he ended the phone call, putting the phone where he found it and letting his eyes close, listening to Yuki's peaceful purrs and replaying Kita's voice in his head. He drifted off to sleep almost immediately after, not even thinking about using his bed and just laying on his couch, dreaming of all the what-ifs he and Kita could have had.

One painful thought made its way through his head, as he drifted off to sleep, reality becoming dull and dark all around him: if only he wasn't a vigilante, those wouldn't be dreams at all.


	2. Chapter 2

There was something ethereal when it came to the ocean. It was so strong and calm, dangerous and kind, horrifying and beautiful. The creatures that inhabited it were just as contradictory, looking one way and ending up being the exact opposite.

That was the case of Kaguya. 

She was an orca born in the aquarium Daichi worked in, shortly after her mother was saved and taken care of. Daichi was the one who always fed her, and she was way too curious about the man. She'd come up on the surface whenever he was near it, letting out needy and joyful sounds whenever he looked in that direction. Initially, the man just smiled and asked her how she was doing, to which she usually responded with happy and gooey whines, but they quickly started to form a deeper bond.

“How are you doing today, gorgeous?” Daichi asked, as he was preparing the food he needed to feed those massive creatures. He wasn't really scared of Kaguya, since he'd known her for years, she wouldn't try to bite or hurt him.

Kaguya gooed something that sounded like a positive response, before diving in the water again. 

The man smiled, returning to his task. Aquarists' job was to give the animals their food, observing them and making sure the environment they were in was good enough for them to lead a normal, healthy life even in captivity. They rarely gave food personally to certain kinds of animals, preferring to lower it down in the water using a metallic platform, that being Daichi's preferred method too, when it came to big, carnivorous animals. He didn't believe they would purposely bite him, orcas weren't as aggressive as everyone thought they were, but there was meat involved and a few of them were still young. It was safer this way.

Sure, orcas were dangerous animals, everyone knew that, but Daichi found them magnificent. Of course, he still didn't go in for a swim, he still didn't have enough trust from a few of them, since they hadn't stayed there for long enough yet. They didn't know him well enough, so to speak.

Again, Kaguya was an exception.

The enormous animal emerged again, looking at a very tired Daichi, who was sitting beside the pool. He was probably the only one in the aquarium who could get that close to the pool, being the only aquarist they had. He enjoyed the time spent alone with animals, both in and out of the water.

Daichi smiled again, getting up slowly and trying to understand what Kaguya wanted. She liked to mess around, that much he knew, but she was just sticking her head out of the water, not playing with her tail or blowhole. 

Kaguya whined loudly at the stillness of the man, but didn't move from that position, even if her tail waved a little in the water. 

He took a few steps forwards, hoping his thoughts were the answer the animal wanted from him, and placed his hand on Kaguya's wet head, as soft as silk. 

Daichi smiled softly at the pleasing sound the orca let out, before letting her go. “You're way too spoiled, young girl.”

The orca whined, sprouting air from her blowhole before diving in again, this time violently splashing her tail against the surface. Needless to say, Daichi was destined to get wet from that one move, but he just stayed there without moving, accepting his destiny.

“One day I'm going to call in sick, she'll try to get Yahaba wet like this and it'll end in a shrieking match.” He muttered to himself, before taking another glimpse of the orca. “What, aren't you happy to see me wet and freezing again?”

Kaguya just whistled in annoyance, sprouting again.

Daichi sighed, almost laughing. “Yeah, yeah, I'll get in the water here someday.” 

He took a step forward, waiting if she wanted to do something else before he had time to check out. She swam to the edge of the pool, offering him her head again. Daichi smiled for what it felt the hundredth time and petted her, lighter this time. “I'll see you tomorrow. Behave and don't get anyone wetter than normal, okay?”

Another annoyed whine came, making Daichi laugh way too much than he should have had.

He had fun at the aquarium, doing pretty much what he's always wanted, working at a close distance with every kind of marine creature, even if it didn't thrill him the idea of big, beautiful animals trapped in cages. Even then, though, a lot of the animals were just held there for a short period of time, bound to get released as soon as they'd feel better. Daichi was lucky enough that Nakashima– his boss– didn't like how most aquaria worked either, or he wouldn't have been there in the first place.

Nakashima was one of those rare good guys in the industry, looking out for everyone's well-being, putting the animals before the money. Of course, animals born in captivity stayed there, but everyone– and especially Daichi himself– made sure they were being taken care of, content and happy.

“Hey.” 

The voice made him perk his head up, meeting warm brown eyes. He couldn't help but smile, recognizing them as Kita's. He didn't forget of the meeting they had planned that morning, he just didn't expect him to meet him there.

It was nice, though.

“Hey,” Daichi answered, his voice pleased and soft, “what are you doing here?”

Kita smiled gently, just like Daichi so vividly remembered. “You didn't specify where you wanted to meet and I know where you work.”

Oh.

He didn't realize it yesterday, but his tiredness betrayed him before he could do anything about it. “Sorry.”

“It's fine, I had the day off either way. How is Kaguya doing?”

“Excited.”

“About what?”

“Life, I guess. It's way too cute, you should have seen her.”

Kita stopped, looking at him with the one expression that Daichi still couldn't decipher. They dated for a year and, counting the two months spent as friends before the actual dating, he never understood what it meant. It was concern, curiosity, anger, annoyance and frustration all together, in a perfect balance. No one could understand what that face meant, without the hints his body language gave away. That time, it was the gentle hand on his shoulder.

_ Concern, then _ , his mind noted, not thrilled about it in the slightest.

Kita's hand hesitantly made its way on the other's neck, thumb resting on his cheek, still slightly wet from before. His grasp was gentle and kind, just barely touching Daichi's skin, letting him know that he could decide to push him away at any time.

Daichi didn't.

“How are you, really, Daichi?” Kita asked, moving his thumb in circles, still just brushing the skin beneath it, something they both learned could calm Daichi down.

He didn't look at him, opting to close his eyes and letting out a loud sigh. “Can we decide where to search for a cafe before I start ranting about my feelings?” Daichi opened his eyes, tired and pleading, and caught Kita's hand, squeezing it slightly. “Please?”

“Alright.” The man wrapped his arms around Daichi's shoulders, leaning in enough to leave a gentle kiss on his temple. The other didn't mind it, almost saviouring those little touches and kisses now that he still could.

Daichi almost let his head fall on the other man's shoulder, but fought against it.  _ Not now _ , he thought, slightly clenching his jaw. It was hard, with Kita so close to him, both emotionally and physically, but they made a deal. Whatever they had was over, they both agreed it was the best thing for everyone.

Right now, though, the vicinity between them was suffocating.

The brunette started to walk, just to be stopped by the other man, a hand clenching around his wrist and piercing and severe eyes looking at him with concern. “What?”

“Change clothes before we go.” Kita explained, pointing at the building behind them. Obviously, having dated Daichi as long as he did, accepting both his nightly life and his daily one, he knew the aquarium had spare clothes.

To that realization, Daichi groaned.

“You risk getting sick enough as it is.”

“You're such a medic.”

“And you're stupid enough to go out wet less than twenty-four hours after almost dying.”

Daichi sighed, lowering his stare. He suspected that he and Aran talked about it, they were really close friends, he knew that, but hearing it from his mouth bothered him more than he thought. Not like he didn't appreciate his concern, but he would have preferred not to talk about it. He was still figuring everything out, especially how to go against the man he was shot by on the roof.

“Aran?” He asked, trying to sound just tired, not angry or upset. It wasn't Kita's fault, he was just trying to help. 

“Aran.” Kita confirmed, pointing again at the building, eyes serious and stern. “Change and dry off.”

Daichi nodded, fully knowing that nothing would have changed his mind. It was simply impossible, especially about personal health, he tried way too many times to just ignore him and do as he pleased, but he just ended up doing whatever Kita wanted anyway. He wasn't violent, he didn't raise his hands, he just worked his way with creepy smiles and kind menaces. Strangely enough, Daichi was glad he did. He needed someone who would just butt heads with him, not necessarily physically.

He passed in front of a couple of pools, before finding the place they held spare clothes in. They weren't fancy, just a navy blue hoodie, grey sweatpants and white and blue sneakers, but he wasn't searching for anything more.

It's not like Kita never saw him with horrible clothes on as well, really. He saw him bleeding out, naked, half naked and drugged to the point he had to explain to him what food was and who knows how many more things. It really wouldn't have been a problem.

Plus, this wasn't a date. 

It was just an occasion to hear each other out and to try to make their lives connected again, plain and simple.

Daichi arrived in the aquarium's private toilet, pretty much the only room where he could change without someone watching and where he could dry off. He took off his shirt and pants, drying his skin and hair as best as he could with another cloth, before putting on what he took from the aquarium. Coming back, he took the backpack he left there, in case something like that happened, and put the clothes insides swinging the bag on his shoulders.

As soon as he came out, he saw Kita running towards him, immediately passing his hand through his chocolate brown hair. Daichi chucked at the sight, the other man just a few centimeters away from him.

“What are you doing?” Daichi asked, closing his left eye to let him go through his hair, never leaving something out of place.

Kita didn't move from his position, too focused to answer him right away. “It's messy.”

There was something so endearing about watching Kita so concentrated and focused in a simple task like that. Daichi knew Kita loved order, logic, little gestures in everyday life, both to his friends and lovers. Hair, and especially Daichi's, was important to him for some reason, always trying to steal a touch of it whenever he could.

Daichi chuckled lightly, almost carelessly. “You can say you like my hair, it's fine.”

“I've always liked your hair,” Kita replied, without dropping the focus on his hair, “I'm just giving it an order now.”

“Tell me when you're satisfied, then.” Daichi sighed, fully knowing nothing could have made him drop the matter at hand. Kita had always been just as stubborn as Daichi was, if not more, especially on certain things. He wasn't strict or overly serious like everyone else always thought, he was just convinced what he thought was right. Despite that, he never belittled another opinion, especially if it diverged from his. He just examined the situation and decided if he had to change his mind or not.

Which was part of the reason why Daichi loved talking with him. He spoke his mind with no fear and still managed to be civil, something that a lot of people failed at, Daichi himself included. Sure, he was kind and sensitive, all in all, but sometimes he was way too stubborn to admit something he did or thought was wrong, often leading to heated fights with his closest friends.

He was just really lucky Kita was as open minded and sensitive as he was.

“We can go.” Kita called, brushing his thoughts away from his mind. He took a few steps back too, waiting for Daichi to regain himself again, to realize what was going on around him and that he had to get out of his own mind, a place he enjoyed way too much to be in.

Daichi blinked, looking at the other more clearly, more present, more himself. “Kit-”

“No.” Kita interrupted him, eyes stern and hurting. His face just read regrets and pain, with a shade of melancholy, almost as if hearing him say his last name physically hurt him.

At that, Daichi tried again for something more intimate. “Shin?”

“Try again.” The other warned, now looking just annoyed.

_ Too intimate _ , Daichi thought, before trying out the last name up his sleeve.

“Shinsuke?”

“Better.”

Of course, it was understandable why Kita wanted him to refer to him with his first name even if they broke up. They had a deep understanding of one another from the very beginning, before they started to feel something for one another, before they started to meet during the day, before Kita even knew what Daichi's identity even was. They started using first names after a little while, becoming really close friends really quickly, not really minding each other's presence in their own personal space.

Kita held out a hand to Daichi, waiting for him to take it on his own. He did it after a while, not really sure if he was okay with it, but, since Kita suggested it, then it must have been fine, right? He wouldn't try to do something he was uncomfortable with, and he gave Daichi every choice of whether or not to follow him or just take a step back. If Daichi said he didn't want to see him ever again, Kita would probably take a step back, say goodbye and be okay with it.

The problem was that Daichi did want to see him again.

The warm feeling Kita's hand on his gave him was so familiar, yet so out of place. When did they start to be this close to one another, always trying to steal a few touches here and there? Was it okay to keep doing it?

Daichi stopped in his tracks, making the other man stop too and turn to him. Kita raised an eyebrow, looking at him with curiosity. There wasn't a trace of concern, it being almost absent on his face now, after being so present before. He simply didn't understand what was going on, what made Daichi stop so abruptly when nothing really happened.

That reaction, purely logical and so utterly normal, gave Daichi enough confidence to ask what was on his mind.

“Have we always been like this?”

“This how?”

“This… touchy.”

Kita hesitated for a second, thinking about letting his hand go. He glanced at it, pale against Daichi's tanned skin, feeling the grasp around it, as if neither of them wanted to let it go yet.

“Do you mind?” He finally asked, raising his gaze to look at the other man.

Daichi shook his head, as confidently as he could master. “No, no, it… it feels good. Comfortable. Do you? You were the one that-”

“It feels right.” Kita hurried to say, opting to change the topic. If they kept on asking the other if that was alright, they would have never eaten. Or talked about what made Daichi look so on edge and deep into his own thoughts.

Obviously, Kita knew what day it was, and it was one of the reasons why he wanted to see Daichi specifically that day, specifically after work, specifically when he would be alone with himself, his thoughts and memories.

He didn't want him to fight alone this year too.

That was a mistake he made the year before, and he didn't want to see him like he did then, crying on the ground and repeating unheard apologies, gasping for air and clinging on to his shirt to make sure he was real and not another one of his mind tricks.

“Do you know a place around here where we can eat?” He asked, voice gentle and low, almost like he was trying too hard not to raise it.

Daichi nodded, starting to walk. Kita let him lead, since he didn't really pass through that part of the city and Daichi knew it way better than he did, working there every day for years.

They opted for a quiet restaurant off the main street, one Daichi said had more meat than fish. It was weird, since it was this close to an aquarium, but Kita didn't ask questions. He knew Daichi loved eating, it being one of the very few aspects of his life that he took excellent care of, and it was enough for him.

“You don't eat fish, right?” Kita asked, looking up at Daichi as soon as they finished to order.

It wasn't a fancy restaurant in any way, it had a really simple design and structure, even the menu was pretty basic. That must have been why Daichi picked it, since it was basic, simple, with a few classic plates. They didn't want to spend much money on eating out, especially since both of them loved to cook at home.

Daichi shrugged. “I can't. I take care of them every single day, I just don't have the strength to eat them.”

To that response, Kita laughed out loud in a way so genuine, so endearing, so loving and affectionate that it took Daichi a couple of seconds before commenting. “What?” He just managed to say, eyes still wide and unbelieving.

Kita smiled, shaking his head, almost as if he was saying to forget it. “Nothing.”

“Making you laugh like that isn't nothing.” Daichi raised an eyebrow, curious and puzzled by the other's response.

He smiled again, auburn eyes soft and loving, a hand lightly pressed against his cheek, his elbow on the table. “I remembered why I fell in love with you, that's all.”

Daichi's eyes perked up in interest. They never told the other why they fell in love with each other, it was enough feeling they were there for one another, it was more than enough feeling they loved each other. Knowing now that Kita was about to tell him what parts of him made him love Daichi, though, it was something even he wanted to know. 

It was over anyway, it wouldn't hurt more that it already did.

Kita must have felt what Daichi's train of thoughts generally was because he sighed deeply, peacefully and calmly, and tried to articulate what he wanted to say. It wouldn't have been easy even if he has always been good with words, given how many things he wanted to enlist. He focused on the two on his mind at the moment, to keep it simple.

Plus, he broke up with him. 

He had to remember that.

“You look like a responsible man,” he chose his words carefully, almost like fingers carefully trading on silk trying to just brush slightly against it, “and yet you need someone to remind you what the most basic things to do to survive are. You're huge and menacing, but you refuse to eat fish because you're just a really kind and caring person.”

“That's why you fell in love with me?”

“Mostly. Your hair too.”

“You  _ really _ like my hair.”

“It's fluffy and it has a nice shade of brown.”

Daichi bursted out laughing, just as the waitress came with their orders. It was late afternoon, so they both chose not to eat too much, but enough to feel full up to that evening. 

They thanked her, Daichi still laughing softly, Kita looking at him with caring, loving eyes. His laugh was a sound he particularly missed, and hearing it on this day in particular sent shivers down his spine. It was beautiful, sure, but the fact that he could laugh like that during the most difficult day of the year made him wonder just how many times he bit down fear and pain to show a brave smile.

One too many times, his mind provided in a heartbeat.

“Why are you taking the matter of my hair so seriously?” Daichi chuckled, starting to eat what little he ordered.

“So you'll laugh before telling me how you're feeling.” Kita smiled again, sad and fearing this time. He didn't know just how bad things would get, but Daichi needed to talk about it. They both did.

As predicted, that question made both of them fall in silence. Kita kept his guard high, taking a mental note of everything happening around him, of everything Daichi did. His fists clenched, his arms started to shake, his teeth bit his lower lip a bit too hard, his eyes down on the floor, his breaths uneven.

Kita stood up, crouching down in front of him, placing gentle and warm hands on his thighs, rubbing calmly against his sweatpants. He tried to look at him without success, Daichi always changing his head angle so they wouldn't lock eyes, until Kita could grasp his chin with his hand.

His face was, as he was expecting, a mess, far from what Daichi normally looked, but it was understandable.

It was his mother's death anniversary, after all.

“Daichi, hey.” Kita's voice was soft, tender, caring, almost like a sweet whisper that shouldn't have seen the light of the day. Daichi shook his head as a response, probably in an effort to avoid crying in front of him.

Good news was, Kita didn't care.

Kita never cared about seeing him cry, he saw crying as something normal, natural, something everyone needed to do in order to feel healthy.

For better or for worse, though, Daichi just hated knowing people saw him cry, even if Kita didn't know why. He knew it was related to his mother, but was it possible it was still just that? He knew of the trauma, how much of a toll it took on him, but was he still so close to his mother that he couldn't fight it so many years later?

Daichi kept his eyes away from Kita, ignoring the little touches his fingertips left on his face and against his thighs. 

At that point, Kita sighed, inhaling deeply, trying not to look as spent as he really was already. The day still wasn't over, it would have gotten worse before the night. “Daichi, look at me.”

The call resulted in little effect, just a slight less shivering, breaths starting to sound more normal.

Kita raised to his feet and hugged him, no other warning before making Daichi's head bump into his own chest, holding him close, hands gently running through his chocolate brown hair. “It's fine. It's going to be fine.”

That did it. Daichi started to sob in silence, fully knowing they were in a public place, he couldn't burst out crying, but he could sob against Kita's shirt, holding onto him as hard as he could.

The shivering slowed to a stop, mostly thanks to Kita's hands in his hair, moving in slow, calming motions. Tears stopped running down his cheeks too, but he didn't bother trying to wipe them off, thinking just about resting his head against Kita's strong body, letting his hands fall on his thighs.

“Did you mourn properly yet?” Kita asked, obviously knowing what was going on. He didn't know last year and he found out by accident, him being the only one apart from Koushi who knew how hard that day was for him.

Daichi slowly shook his head, closing his eyes, taking that moment of comfort to breathe and relax.

Kita chuckled, looking at him with a soft smile on his face. “Do you want me to stay with you today? I know Sugawara can't.”

Both of them were aware of how much Daichi needed someone with him, especially during the night, when his mind worked less and less, when he was more and more tired.

When he started to think about that night again.

Daichi looked up at his friend, eyes red and tired, trying desperately to resemble normality. He was either calm now or crying just made him more tired than he already was. 

He yawned, brushing his hair gently against Kita's shirt. “Are you actually a god?”

The question made Kita laugh, his fingers still between his brown hair, almost playing with them now. Daichi usually joked about the fact that Kita was ever present ever since he met him, always knowing what was going on and the only one looking over him as obsessively as he did.

“I'm not a god, Daichi,” he'd say every time, which was always followed by a “Shin, don't tell me lies,” coming from Daichi's mouth. It was easy then, they barely knew each other, Daichi never threw a fit and Kita never butted heads with him trying to come up on top in an argument.

They were just two men in love with one another, no more and no less.

“Just worried about someone I care about.” Kita hummed, before kissing the top of his head and sitting on his chair again. Luckily for them, their table was somewhere people never passed by and cornered by walls, so no one could complain about that public display of emotions or worry about one of them getting in the way.

Kita followed Daichi's movements, from almost falling at the loss of contact to opening his eyes and blinking at him, almost confused. It was cute, how innocent he looked when he was sleepy, how easily he put himself up again, how peaceful he looked when he blinked at him.

He hoped that wasn't an act.

He hoped he really did feel happy and comfortable now, just like he looked.

He hoped he didn't fake it automatically, even half asleep.

“I'm glad you're here.”

Daichi's voice interrupted every thought inside Kita's head, making him look at those beautiful brown eyes, still tired, but relaxed and peaceful too, his happy gaze trailing on his every face feature.

Kita found himself smiling without really wanting to, but he was happy Daichi was feeling at least a bit better for the moment. “I'm glad I am, too.“ He watched him eat his food, as relaxed as he could be, before prompting another discussion, away from his mother or anything to do with it. “Do you want to talk about your day?”

“I'd rather hear about yours, actually. Or anything you want to tell me.” He smiled, his mouth still tasting whatever he was eating.

“I'll still ask about your little incident with the Guardian later, I hope you know that.”

“I do. It's easy to talk with you.”

Kita fell silent, just staring right at him, a rare absence in his eyes. He hoped Daichi was still half spent from before, so he wouldn't be able to ask him what was going on in his head.

Although, his own laugh betrayed him, and Daichi gave him a confused look, still eating what little remained of his food.

It's not like he had a choice now anyway.

He exhaled, defeated, pressing a hand against his cheek. “Can you at least try not to be so easy to fall for?”

Daichi shot his head up at the question, eyes confused and utterly surprised. “What are you talking about?”

“Did you ever ask yourself why almost every close friend you have is one of your ex-boyfriends? Azumane, Kuroo, Aran. Me too, if you'll have it.”

“Aran never was my boyfriend.”

“He had a crush on you before we started dating.”

Daichi blinked, stopping himself from commenting right away, thinking about what Kita just said.

The fact that people found Daichi good looking wasn't new, he himself knew he was considered as such, what was weird to him was that his friends had full blown crushes on him. To have a crush, Daichi thought, you had to be infatuated with someone, sole looks weren't enough.

He simply didn't think he had what it took to be someone Aran would be interested in.

Aran was one of Daichi's closest friends, someone he could always count on, the one who, along with Koushi and Kita, helped him through a lot of his issues. Sure, that was his job since he had a degree in psychology, but he could choose not to come at his apartment, on the other side of town, to just have a normal talk with him.

The truth was that Aran was a wonderful human being all around, and Daichi was glad to have him in his life.

Still, Aran liking him had little sense.

Kita waited religiously, until Daichi shot his head up in confusion, his eyebrows crouched, his nose snorting, his stare more intense than ever.

It was just as cute as he remembered.

“Daichi, I don't know if you've noticed,” Kita said, chuckling as he tried to explain, “but you're good looking, kind, cute, outgoing, strong and sensitive. It's utterly easy to have a crush on you, even more to fall in love with you.”

The other man listened carefully, trying to make something out of what he was saying, but he still thought it didn't make sense. Not just for Aran, but for his past relationships too.

After all, none really lasted.

The most meaningful one was what he had with the man in front of him, but both of them knew how that ended.

As if Kita understood what Daichi was talking about, he continued, pointing out some obvious things that Daichi's stubborn and blind mind didn't pick up. “You're obsessed with your night job too, and not everyone has the strength to put up with that. Or you have one of your breakdowns. They're frightening, Daichi, people get scared and run off because they don't have the sheer strength to see their loved one like that.”

The mention of his breakdowns– called like that for the lack of a better word– felt like someone just stabbed him repeatedly in the stomach, over and over again in the same spot, with the clear intention of killing him, but choosing to do it in a way he would feel death coming closer and closer, like a creeping shadow, without the pain ever slowing down. He knew they were scary and ugly, but someone else he cared about pointing it out hurt more than he could have imagined.

Usually, he'd have them on his own, alone, since he started to keep people at a safe distance after college, but there were times someone else saw him. Kita, for example, a year ago, Koushi, when they were in college, or Kuroo, after he brought him home one night.

That little slip made them break up too.

Of course, Daichi took medicines, he went to various psychologists and psychiatrists throughout his life, who just told him he had to live with it, try to overcome it, with his friends' support and the medicines' help. He almost never had those kinds of attacks anymore, they mostly just consisted of a little sudden anxiety now, but that day was a fatal constant in his life, one that refused to go away.

His mother's death.

Ikejiri's death.

His father's death.

His stepfather getting out of prison.

All the same day.

It had to be a weird joke from the universe, just to laugh at his little, pathetic life.

Daichi looked down, guilty and slightly angry. “It's not something I can control.” His voice was low, the words almost dragged out of his gritted teeth.

“I know, it's not your fault.” Kita's voice came, calm and sweet, ever so caring, always tranquilizing. “But it's not theirs either.”

“Can we go home?” Daichi bit back, not really menacing or angry. He looked as tired as he could be, his brown eyes yearning for a bed, or just a place to lay down.

He  _ really _ just wanted the day to be over.

Kita smiled, getting up. “Yeah. I'll pay,” he caressed his brown hair, carefully and softly, “just wait here, alright?”

Daichi hummed in response, eyes closed, throwing his head back. He needed a moment alone, just a moment, and Kita knew that. He'd repay him in some way, whether it be with money or something else.

He focused on the sounds around him, the hurried steps of the waiter serving the table behind him, the waitress taking the orders at the table next to his, an old man talking lovingly about his nephews, Kita's kind voice conversing about their bill, the quiet pop music he weirdly knew coming from the speakers.

An idea creeped at the back of his mind by hearing the rhythm of that particular song.

A bad idea for most, a good idea for Daichi. Definitely a bad idea for Kita.

He got up, without opening his eyes, trying to follow the sounds around him, trying not to bump into anyone, trying to reach his friend without making people mad for the stunt he was pulling off.

Steps coming in his direction, on his left.

Go right. Mind the table there, there's chattering coming from that direction. Reach a hand out, careful not to arrive too abruptly.

Other chattering, in front of him. Steps from his right.

Go left, angle more inclined than before. Mind the table. Move normally. Follow the rhythm, but don't be distracted by it.

“Thank you.” Kita said, not too distant from him.

So he was near.

Daichi just followed his voice, mindful of everything else at the same time as well. There was another table between them, but he was able to avoid it, thanks to the incredibly loud children yelling something to their parents. He stretched a hand out, careful to keep it relaxed, and rested it on the edge of the table, following his entire length with the touch.

He took another few steps before opening his eyes, and what he saw was Kita with his usual serious, unfazed expression, looking at him. “Show-off,” he breathed, just when he was near enough to catch it clearly.

Daichi smirked, proud of himself, and followed his friend out of the building, easily talking with him of anything that came to mind. It was easy, talking with Kita. They've always understood each other's train of thoughts and liked to talk and listen in the same measure, laughing at whatever they thought was funny.

It felt good.

It felt  _ really _ good.

It felt so good Daichi forgot for a second of the incident from last night, tried to do a backflip and fell on his back.

“You're so careless.” Kita commented, not even helping him to get himself up, just looking at him from above, trying to contain a smile.

Daichi groaned, half from the pain, half from the fact that his dear friend was laughing at him. “I can't do my job if I'm not careless.”

“There's careless and there's plain out stupid.”

“And I'm just careless.”

“You're both.”

“That was uncalled for.”

“Who did a backflip in the middle of the street?”

“Oh, shut up.”

Luckily, that made both of them laugh. Kita slightly brushed his arm against Daichi's elbow, to which the other responded by wrapping an arm around his shoulders, letting Kita's head to fall on his shoulder as he laughed.

Laughing and teasing continued until they arrived inside Daichi's apartment, Kita almost immediately dropping the smile as he looked around him. Saying that the room was upside down was an understatement. Everything that should have been on the table was on the ground, the wall had a few sprouts of blood on it, random and all around the place, the remote control was broken in half and a leg of the table was cracked.

Kita suspected what happened, that's where logic pointed to, but he didn't want to believe it. He saw Daichi having a few breakdowns during those two years, but they were never this bad, he never did something more other than crying, whispering the same thing over and over again and gasping for hair.

When he heard Daichi sigh, he feared for the worst, he prepared himself for whatever part of his past he had to see this time, but what he said threw him completely off guard. “The cat threw everything off the table again.”

“The cat?” Kita asked, eyes questioning and utterly confused.

“Yeah, the cat. You know, a small four legged mammal with a long tail that has been living with humans for centuries?”

“I know what a cat is.”

“Did you know they purr even as they die?”

“What are you doing with a cat?” Kita snapped, not really caring about whatever interesting curiosity Daichi had in store for him. “You hate cats.”

“I love cats.”

“You said you hated Kuroo's cat.”

“Yeah,” Daichi almost yelled, as if it was obvious, “because she's a magic panther that can eat me alive whenever she wants.”

Kita raised an eyebrow, slightly confused. “I thought you liked dogs more.”

“I do. But cats don't need much other than food, cuddles and somewhere to explore.” Daichi said, throwing the keys on the couch, as per usual. “And I don't mind cats.”

“Then I'm happy to-”

Kita stopped, staring at the ground with eyes wide and mouth parted, looking as if he saw a ghost.

Daichi looked at him almost scared, trying to understand what was going on. “Shinsuke?”

“Is that a decapitated mouse.” He breathed, pointing at something laying on the ground, too small to be a normal mouse.

That, and it didn't have a head. Amazing.

“Oh, it is.” Daichi agreed, not really phasing at the sight. It wasn't the first time it happened although he has had the cat for just three days. He didn't know why, but she liked to decapitate mice. “Yuki tends to- What are you doing.”

Of all the things he expected to see today, Kita Shinsuke picking up a mouse's head in his hands and lovingly observing it certainly wasn't among them.

And, obviously, since it was Kita Shinsuke we were talking about, he would have come up with the most logical solution to the problem.

Kita took a step towards Daichi, holding out the corpse in between his hands. “Funeral. Now.”

Or not.

Daichi sighed, utterly exhausted. He just wanted to sleep and hope the day would end, why couldn't he? Instead, he had to deal with fucking Kita Shinsuke getting soft over a dead mouse. Wonderful. “Shinsuke. Put the mouse's head down right now.”

“I'm so sorry for him.”

“Shinsuke. The head. Please.”

“We can connect it to its body.”

“Shinsuke. No. Put it away.”

“Daichi, the funeral. He was brutally killed. He needs one.”

Kita didn't say a thing about the blood falling on the palm of his hand, or the fact that he was holding the head of a mouse as its body was still on the ground, and Daichi didn't even know where to begin. He knew Kita was raised mostly by his grandmother in the farm she and her husband had, so him being not grossed out by mice and little wild animals wouldn't have been weird. 

Except Daichi constantly forgot his upbringing.

It wasn't like Daichi hated mice either, but he wasn't overly fond of touching them, especially if they were dead.

“Put it down. It's disgusting.”

“He was adorable.”

“Shinsuke. Step away from the corpse of that goddamn mouse.”

“I can take it home.”

“As long as you put it down, you can take it wherever you want.”

At that point Kita dropped it, making it land near the rest of the corpse. He watched it fall, never relaxing his arms and hands, probably feeling the blood against his skin and urging not to touch anything. He turned to Daichi, smiling. “I'm washing up.”

“You better.”

“I was raised in a farm, not an uncivilized society.”

Daichi laughed, resting a hand on his back and pushing him slightly towards the bathroom. “Go.”

Kita laughed with him, walking towards the bathroom and careful enough not to touch anything with his hands covered in blood. The place was messy already, neither of them wanted even more blood on walls and doors.

Blood that was still on the walls, a matter that Kita will ask about later. Daichi knew that, and he would have explained however he could that he punched it too hard one too many times a week ago and that Yuki keeps bringing him half dead birds that end up on the walls and the ceiling, often leaving a mark of blood on them. He would have, but later, when he asked. Right now, he was alone, trying to keep away the train of memories and thoughts in the back of his mind.

He knew what triggered his breakdowns, he knew he had complete control over it. That was his mind, those were his memories, and he could control them.

Theoretically.

Realistically, he didn't know what could happen. He could fall on the ground gasping for hair, he could start crying, he could scream for his life, he could just stare terrified at what seemed like the void for other people.

“Don't move,” a voice said, at the back of his head, in a gruff, hoarse tone, probably from the alcohol. Daichi knew that voice, knew that line, all too well.

_ Not yet, not yet, not yet _ , his mind repeated over and over again, his body already too heavy to move. As much as he liked to believe that time healed all injuries, it simply wasn't true. He remembered perfectly that feeling of guilt, fright, anger, anticipation. He knew already what was coming, he knew who would have seen dying this time.

It wasn't his mother.

It wasn't his father.

The sound of the gunshots echoed in his mind, loud and clear, as if it was an explosive going off not too far away from when he was standing. The image of a twenty-one year old man laying on the ground appeared in front of him; his wide open brown eyes, once full of happiness and joy, empty and lifeless, his blue shirt and light brown coat bathed in dark red blood, three bullets distinctively on three different areas. His pale skin was starting to get paler, his body heat diminishing every minute that passed, his freckles, on the bridge of his nose and under his eyes, flashing out even more.

Daichi felt tears streaming down his face again, heavy and burning against his tanned skin, a pained scream trying to make its way up from the back of his throat. He knew who that man was, he knew why it had such an impact on him, he knew why he was part of this hell of a day.

He was one of his best friends, along with Koushi and Asahi. He went to college with him, but he never finished it. He was killed before he could, by a middle aged man with a gun in his hand, way too intoxicated and way too scared.

Ikejiri.

Daichi has never forgiven himself for not being able to stop it, no matter how many people told him it wasn't his fault.

He felt his heart starting to race, his ears hearing sounds that weren't there, his body shaking again, his breaths accelerating, his legs giving up on him, his chest hitting the floor, his eyes making him see things that couldn't be there, people that weren't on this plane of existence anymore. Everything started to blur around him, his mind trying to figure out what was real and what was just in his head, without success. He heard his mother desperately calling his name, recordings of his father's voice playing, his stepfather's footsteps closing in, someone else he couldn't place yet touching his shoulder. Was that real? Was that just a memory? Who was that? Who-

“Deep breaths, Daichi.” The voice sounded familiar, but he was still way too into his own head, his own memories, his mountain of regrets to actually place it and give it a face he knew. 

Nevertheless, he did what that person asked.

He closed his eyes, trying to focus on his breaths, trying to breathe evenly. It took him a while, with his racing heart and all the voices he still heard, all the fright still lingering all around him, behind every angle, between his every certainty. The hand on his back, almost brushing his sweater with his fingertips, afraid of breaking him as if he was made of glass, inclined him to continue until he made it, until his breaths were normal, until his heart slowed its beat, until his brain understood his surroundings again.

Daichi turned to his left, still breathing slowly, to see Kita with his phone in his hand, obviously calling someone. His hand was still on Daichi's back, trying to be as relaxing as he could, drawing little circles with his thumb.

Kita looked at him, mastering a proud smile and mouthing something that looked like 'Koushi'. That calmed him down even more. “Yeah, he's with me. Yeah. Of course. Have a good day too.”

“What did he say?” Daichi asked, immensely glad as he felt his limbs stopping to shake and noticing that Kita was giving him his space before doing anything else.

He looked at him, retiring his hand and giving back his phone. Daichi took it in his hand, still expecting an answer. “To take care of you.”

Oh.

That made sense.

Except for when it didn't.

“Didn't we break up to avoid exactly that?”

His voice was nothing but a kind, tired whisper, his mouth curled up in a bittersweet smile. He wasn't angry, he could never be angry at someone like Kita, someone that was nothing but gentle, sweet and considerate, but he wanted to know. He wanted to know why he was still there, calming him down, acting like everything was still as it was. Sure, he was a medic, it was his job to care about people, but he wanted to hear his explanation.

Kita, ever so calm, smiled warmly, helping Daichi to stand up, leading him to the couch. “We broke up because I couldn't stand the thought of seeing you bleeding out on my couch for the fifth time in two weeks and witnessing your body dragging itself through life like a ghost.”

Daichi sat down, grunting when his body hit the soft surface. Kita didn't sit on the couch next to him, making sure Daichi could lay on it comfortably enough to prompt a little nap. They both knew he needed it, and Kita didn't mind sitting on the floor or just waiting for him to get his sleep.

He didn't want to sleep, though. Not yet, at least. The fact that his job made people feel fear for both him and their own lives wasn't new, but Kita's job specifically consisted of patching up vigilantes like him. For him to think he couldn't bear seeing him injured so much that he had to break up with him was something he didn't expect.

Something he felt directly responsible for.

As if the other read his mind, he spoke up again, soft and kind. “It's not your fault, before you say anything.” Kita looked at him again, with the usual loving eyes Daichi grew to know so well. “I'm just not as strong as you are.”

“You aren't weak.” Daichi shot back, almost offended by that last comment. Kita was strong, you had to have a lot of strength to go through what he does every single day, to deal with hurt and dying vigilantes by night and normal patients by day, always having to heal them in every way you could. It just required strength, both physically and mentally.

Kita chuckled softly, looking towards the ceiling. He rarely did that, but Daichi knew what it meant. He was about to compliment him. It was something that Daichi wasn't really fond of, he felt like Kita really sold himself short, but he said time and time again he needed it, sometimes, so he kept listening. “I never said I was, you're just too strong. I still admire it and I still love you, but I can't bear being in love with you when you're that defeated.”

Again, his gut told him he had to feel guilty, but he had no time to process it, Kita already pinching his arm to get his attention. “Daichi. Not your fault.”

He smiled apologetically, digging his head into the hem of his sweater until it covered up to his nose. “Right.”

Kita smiled back, leaving a tender, yet distant kiss on his red cheek. “I'll be here for you, I want you to know that. I can't abandon you, and I won't, but I can't love you like I did before either.” He ran his fingers through his hair, Daichi leaning in to the touch.

“Alright.” He whispered, voice warm and soft, almost cuddled by those quick touches and kind words.

“Rest a bit, you'll want to get out tonight.”

“I never go out on this day. I don't know what I could do, so I stay in.”

“Do you want me to stay? Oomimi will manage the clinic.”

The question lingered in Daichi's head for a long while, way too long for his liking, but he did enjoy being with him, it being either as friends or lovers. It didn't matter now that he knew why he did what he did. “If you can.”

“I can.” A bright smile spread on Kita's face, as big as the best smiles Daichi could remember coming from the man.

“Thanks.” He muttered, before smiling and letting himself close his eyes, drifting to sleep. He was really tired from both the toll that day took on him and the fact that his body needed some more sleep in order to heal some of the wounds still half open.

Kita smiled when he heard him starting to snore softly, leaving a soft, imperceptible kiss, almost just brushing his lips, against his forehead. “Anything to see you smile again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The decapitated mouse is a true story because my cat has no sense of decency and did it more than once :D Also, I have no idea how acquaria work, BUT orca's whistles are so relaxing so I added it in anyway since I'm a nerd that has to show off


	3. Chapter 3

Daichi wasn't searching for the guy who shot him. He wasn't. He was just on his usual patrol, looking for people who needed to be taught that they couldn't just do what they wanted, to let them know there was someone willing to make them look at death, sense it coming like a creepy shadow hovering over them, to just feel the string of life pulling them back, immediate pain as someone else saved their life.

That was what he did, beating them up until they were on the verge of death, not necessarily using his strength or hitting them senseless. He was strong, sure, but using all his effort on just one person wasn't ideal. Pressure points, fragile organs, the right amount of strength on some bones could all cause serious damage and his body wouldn't be exhausted after a couple of fights.

A win-win situation, really.

Except for that killer who, honestly, asked for it. You choose to be a bad person, you choose to do what you do, you know the consequences of your actions.

The same went for Daichi. 

He knew what he was doing, why he chose to do it, why he'd be doing it for the foreseeable future. He knew how it impacted his life, how many people he could lose, how every little mistake would hunt him for the rest of his life. He knew it, but he chose to set his own happiness down to protect others, to demonstrate that you can be deep into the worst shit, but there could be a way out. There was always a way out.

Daichi landed gracefully on the roof of a modern building, solid, thick, cold. Against it, his feet were as light as a feather, in the way he always tried to land when he wasn't fighting or running away, not a sound escaping from the soles of his boots. He was taught how to differentiate between all three, both on the ground and in the air. There were precise movements his limbs had to do, precise amounts of pressure his feet had to apply, both when he jumped and when he landed, precise degrees in which his body had to rotate, all at a precise velocity, while understanding whatever and whoever there was around him.

On patrols, he jumped from building to building, light and quick, looking how he could help other people on the street under his feet, not caring about anything else. Other times he just needed to think, get some air, focusing on nothing other than the adrenaline flowing through his veins, feeling the cold wind brushing on his face, enjoying the sensation of his freezing hair slightly touching his forehead whenever he was in the air.

He knew he could fall, he knew he could even die, he knew this job could cost him everything he worked so hard for ever since he was a child, but he didn't care. He never did. He didn't care when he sneaked out to exercise at thirteen, he didn't care when he first started to jump from building to building at twenty-one, he didn't care when he first took on his job as a vigilante at twenty-five, he didn't care when he got shot by a guy with an incredible aim that made him roll over a roof at thirty-one.

Guy that, by the way, hid his face. 

Daichi didn't know how he looked like, he just picked up a few features, like burns and cuts and the color of his eyes. He would have figured out if he got close enough, unless he had a hiding spell. Kuroo and Asahi often gave him some, to hide from authorities and technology, to prevent everyone from recognizing him and knowing what he did.

Shockingly, what he did was illegal and he could be put on trial for it. A thing that, if you asked him, was utter bullshit.

He was about to enlist all the reasons why authorities, as corrupted as they were, wouldn't be able to do their job on their best day, but his thoughts were interrupted by a gunshot not too far from where he was.

He was pretty sure it was the same roof, even.

Then, it came the screaming.

Daichi sprinted towards where he thought the aggression was taking place, instinctively throwing a metallic, double edged knife he kept in a pocket at the height of his thigh.

It left a long, superficial cut on the man's left cheek, between his ear and upper lip. He hissed for a second, before turning to him with a gun in his hand.

Great. That was just a beautiful day, wasn't it? It was barely 10 pm and someone was already trying to shoot him.

The stance that man stood in was firm, confident, something that screamed he was trained and dangerous. Daichi tensed up, ready to jump in any direction, brushing his hand against the fabric of his black combat pants and stopping where he kept his batons.

He was ready to be shot at, it wouldn't have been the first time someone successfully forced a bullet to break through his skin, squishing itself between his muscles, bones and organs.

It certainly wasn't  _ his _ first, either.

The man in front of him had a hiding spell, sure, but Daichi recognized those black clothes, that black gun, that solid stance. 

That was the guy who shot him.

And, apparently, he was starting to realize who Daichi was too, given how much more pissed his voice got just a second later. “You again?” A growl from the back of his throat made its way up until it was out of his mouth, almost as terrifying as the very aura around him.

Everything Daichi could see, hear, smell was death, pain and suffering. He didn't know if it was about him or the people he most certainly had killed, but his style of fighting, voice, stance, ideals screamed nothing but darkness.

He almost felt sorry for him.

He almost thought about searching for a verbal solution, no fights involved.

He almost dropped his guard.

_ Almost _ .

The moment he felt a hand on his arm, he automatically grabbed his shoulders and moved him on his left, already raising his leg to kick him on the stomach.

Unfortunately, all he got was a punch to the face.

He fell to the ground, shoulders and back hitting the ground much harder than he expected. His eyes shot up, catching where the man was standing, probably looking down on him. He had no way to know for sure, since the hiding spell made sure the face looked blurry to everyone else but the person wearing it, but he'd imagine a person that kills people every day would look at his victims before killing them.

Daichi looked at him as he stepped over his body, until he decided to move his leg just enough to entangle his foot with the man's ankle, bringing him down as well. He fell with a loud thump, face on the concrete, probably even angrier than before.

Oh, well, it's not like either of them were there to talk, right?

Daichi used that split second of advantage to get up and place a foot on his neck, barely applying pressure. It was enough to prevent him from moving even only a muscle, but it still let him talk.

“Killing people isn't exactly a good thing to do, you know that?” Daichi asked, almost smiling at him. It was a soft grin, lips barely curled up. It had been easy, way too easy, to pin him down. Everything in that situation just screamed "trap", and he was sure it was, but he couldn't figure out in what way he could-

The gun.

Daichi felt a striking pain growing in his right shoulder, something liquid spreading under the fabric of his clothes, the exact amount of pressure and force to push his body on the ground again.

This time, though, he felt a weight on chest, immediately followed by something cold and metallic against his neck and chin. 

A knife. Amazing.

“Fucking boy scout.” The man whispered, spitting it out with utter disgust, almost as an insult. Daichi was sure it was, under his perspective. 

The low growl that followed and the knife dangerously close to his throat didn't stop him from talking, though. He's been through worse.

“So.”

“Shut up.”

“You didn't kill me on purpose.”

The man huffed, obviously annoyed by all the questions and teasing remarks luring out of Daichi's mouth. He took the opportunity to rub in everything he could, to get out any possible information. “You don't miss, do you? You never did.”

“Shut up.”

“You keep saying that.”

“You keep talking.”

Some steps could be weakly heard, but the guy must have been focused on Daichi for way too long to notice.

Better for him.

Daichi smiled brightly at him, preparing his muscles to work and get him off of his body. “Well, I had to let the guy run away.”

Upon hearing that, the man turned to check, the knife a bit farther from Daichi's throat, muscles relaxed, distraction clear in every aspect of his movements. Daichi grabbed his wrist as strong as he could master with one hand and pushed him off balance with the rest of his body.

The man growled and pierced his nails and fingertips in his shoulders, getting a pained hiss from Daichi in return.

A quite strong headbutt hit Daichi on his forehead, making him fall down on his butt, right when he finally got the upper hand.

The man moved to pin him to the ground again, one fluid movement caught the knife and got him on his knees in the bat of an eye. He moved towards Daichi, legs steady, quick steps and tense muscles, already knowing where he would hit.

Daichi waited until he was hovering over him, already sure of success, and he kicked him in his stomach. Hard. 

The man groaned as he fell, Daichi taking this opportunity to finally immobilize him. He pressed his knee on his chest, the opposite foot against his wrist, forcing him to let go of the knife. As soon as he took it from his hands, he slipped on his stomach, leading his arms over his head and pinning them both to the ground.

He heard some other growling and moaning, probably out of frustration, before the other could say anything. “You just had to let a guy from Yakuza run away, didn't you?”

“You shouldn't kill people.”

“ _ You _ shouldn't play being a hero in a black pajamas.”

“ _ I _ don't kill people.”

A sickened laugh left the man's lips. It was full of venom and hate, Daichi could feel it vibrating to the deepest part of his bones. “Oh, yeah, you just send them to the hospital and they get free treatment to get back on the street to do the same fucking thing you punished them for! What a great hero!”

“And you decide whether or not they get to have a chance at finding a new path, great solution!” Daichi bit back, voice just as angry and poisonous as his. He looked at him, dark eyes and deep voice, as angry as ever. He rarely lost his patience, especially with criminals, but no one ever insulted his beliefs like that.

No one ever called him a hero either.

He hated it.

His hands squeezed a bit harder on the man's wrists, his jaw clenched, his breath got heavier. The other didn't say anything, not for the pain the harsher grip on his wrists Daichi was causing him, the weight on him, the complete control and defeat at his hands. It almost looked like he didn't care.

It made sense, in some ways. The one he wanted to kill ran away, he was probably too far away by now to catch him again, he already lost his prize for that night.

Somehow, that made Daichi even angrier.

He inhaled, initially trying to calm down, but, after a fraction of second, he decided to recollect his energies to punch him in the face. It felt good, hearing him groan for the pain as he got up and took his distance from him. Daichi looked at him, faintly hoping the hiding spell would at least be weaker, but he knew how resistant those things were. They lasted hours before starting to fade, and the only reason he got a small glimpse of his eyes last time was because it was almost morning.

The man sat up, barely brushing a finger against his mouth, recollecting the few drops of blood that fell from his broken lips and open mouth. “What you do isn't better, by the way.” He stood up, turning away from Daichi and walking towards a firearm that rested on the ground ever since they began to fight. It looked like a rifle, probably used for targeting. He didn't use it, he just picked it up and turned towards Daichi again, arms relaxed as they held the massive weapon.

The next thing Daichi knew, the man was quietly dismantling it, blowing into some pieces and tidying them up in every way he could. “They get into prison under the jurisdiction of a trial where all they search for is their own gain. They don't care about you, or him, or common, normal people.” He raised his head, immediately using an acidly joking tone, a smile clear on his face. “They just search for what they can use to clean up their asses.”

The man clicked his tongue, hate spreading in the air like a toxin, his tone lower and lower, anger as clear as day. Daichi was almost scared to know from where all that pure toxicity came from.

Almost.

“They don't care. No one directly working for this fucking country cares. They don't see the difference between me, you or the criminals we fight.” He pointed at Daichi with the knife he used before, anger taking his place back in his throat. “Get it in your thick skull.”

“I know they don't.” Daichi responded immediately. It's not like no one ever said that to him, he had to discuss this with Koushi once a week, every single time he tried to make him quit. “I'm not doing this for them, or you, or myself. I'm doing it to protect people, give them hope. If you kill a killer, you don't solve the problem.”

“If you kill ten you do. Do you know how much I've been around? How many pieces of shit I killed? How many people are living safer because of me?” He stopped for a second, breaths heavy in the cold air between them. The weapon he held was almost thrown on the floor, heavy, dangerous steps advancing towards Daichi. He wasn't afraid, it's not like he was new to this kind of job, but he felt a tingle of terror rushing through his veins.

Despite that, Daichi didn't move, didn't drop his stare, didn't allow his muscles to contract, didn't let his mind think about any situation that ended with his defeat.

The man stopped a few inches from him, close enough that Daichi was able to feel his body heat, see the faint stains of blood on his black shirt and feel his breath on his lips and nose. If the situation wasn't as tense as it was, he'd have simply used his shoulder as leverage to jump behind him and fight.

Unfortunately for him, he could feel the tension lingering in the small space left between them way too well.

“I killed hundreds of people.” The man pushed him to the wall behind him, harder and harsher than he did before when he pinned him down. Daichi tried to counter his strength, but all it did was slowing him down for a second and made Daichi hit the wall even harder. He groaned, dropping his head for just a moment, only to feel a hand on his chin lifting it up again. 

The first reaction was a hiss, then a sloppy kick and an unbearable pain on his knee. Daichi let out a muffled scream, just as he felt an arm on his chest, barely below his neck, a stinging pain on his left palm and a hand around his right wrist. He looked up to the man, anger and pain flooding through every little capillary and venule in his body.

“Hundreds.” The man repeated, warm breath brushing against Daichi's ear, deep, calm, violent voice echoing in the dead of the night, almost like a revelation no one but them could know about. “I'm cleaning this fucking stink from this hellhole of a city, unlike you.”

“You don't have the right to.”

“They don't have the right to treat everyone else like toys to play with until they get bored of it.”

Daichi blinked at that, maybe still thinking too much about the fact that he pinned him to a wall with an easiness that was hard to shake off. His arm and hand still pushed, the knife through his palm still kept his hand against the wall, his voice was still as rough as when they started talking.

Everything about that approach screamed danger, but, for some reason he couldn't explain, he didn't feel the adrenaline he normally did in those situations. 

He felt curiosity.

“They get bored of what?” He asked, cautiously. He wanted to have a conversation with him as much as a fight as soon as he landed on that roof, so he took the opportunity. He just didn't have to make him too mad, or they could start fighting again.

“Of the game.” His answer was direct, simple, almost obvious. He definitely wasn't one of those people that avoided a conversation and circled around an answer.

Daichi liked that. He liked honesty, genuinity and confidence in sharing opinions. This guy might kill people, but he was true to himself. He wasn't running from him, he didn't even try to do that since they started fighting, he didn't contradict his beliefs.

Daichi  _ really _ liked that.

“Why do you think Yakuza's reach is everywhere?” The man continued, making the other listen to his reasoning. “They need options. More options, more money. More options, more profit. More options, more lives to ruin. It's what they do.”

He was right. 

Daichi knew he was, he even agreed with him, Yakuza needed to be hunted down, there wasn't a chance of any of them magically turning into good guys and honest civilians. They still shouldn't be killed, in his humble opinion, but that wasn't the time to discuss it.

“I'm not talking about the Yakuza.” Daichi spat out, trying to ignore the growing pain in his shoulder and hand, the few drops of blood falling to the ground echoing in his mind like a reminder of his body's fragility.

It  _ hurt _ .

It hurt and he wanted to scream his lungs out, but he couldn't. Not now and not in front of him. It would have been like admitting he lost against him.

All he could do was taking deep breaths and trying to think clearly, trying to understand what this guy wanted to do.

“I'm talking about normal criminals.” He locked his eyes on his blurry face, not a hard task when the man's arm was pushing so hard just below his neck, on his chest. “Thieves, killers no one knows about, rival gangs. Why do you kill those?”

“I don't. Not everyone. Not the people who don't deserve it. If a guy robs a store without hurting a fly, whatever, who cares.” He shrugged, waiting a longer moment to continue. The wait shredded Daichi from the inside out, not entirely sure what to expect from him. He could say something he agreed with– which was quite terrifying, seeing his death count and how he acted, something he absolutely despised, or even some menaces. Out of the three, the one that Daichi wished came out of his mouth was the third option, but he was sure that he wouldn't even mention it.

Because Daichi was just that lucky.

“If the thief in question is a shit of a human being, though? He's asking for the bullet through his skull.” Came the man's voice, as gruff as always. Daichi didn't know if he was modifying it or not, but, if that was his real voice, he understood why he was so good at intimidating people. It sounded as sharp as a blade cutting through your skin and as cold as ice, but fiery enough to pierce every defence your mind had put into place. It was warm and freezing, aggressive and terrifying, all at once. It was almost… overwhelming.

Even if his every instinct told him to back down, to simply walk away, to stop answering him and make him just more irritated and angry, he spat out another answer from the back of his throat, a forced, low growl escaping through his teeth. “You have low standards.”

“ _ I  _ have low standards? Every single guy I kill deserves the damn bullet. They all deserve to-”

“And what about the families? What about their children or-”

“Oh, come on! Their families know what a piece of shit they are. They're either grateful the scum is gone or they're just like him and I'll get them sooner or later.”

Daichi suddenly stopped breathing.

Just for a second, for one, quick second, he stopped breathing, because he could understand that. He could understand his reasoning, he knew how growing up with a shit of a human being does to families, and he knows for a fact that he'd have been grateful if someone killed his stepfather. 

If someone killed him before that painful day, maybe his mother could have been alive right in that moment.

If someone took him out of his life, he wouldn't have had to deal with that kind of trauma on his own for over two decades.

If someone sent him away from him, he could have had a shot at being happy.

He understood him. He killed people, but he understood why he did what he did, and why so many people said he helped them. He understood, and now he didn't feel the need to take him down anymore.

Unfortunately, though, the man did and, before Daichi knew, he felt a strong hand grabbing his hair and knocking his head on the wall behind him. 

Darkness swallowed him whole, the last thing he remembered being strong hands carefully putting him on the ground and a few warm, imperceptible breaths whispering something he couldn't quite decipher.

\---

“Uh, what are you doing exactly?”

The voice made him turn immediately, just as he was about to take off the man’s glove to attend to his injury. He wouldn’t bleed out, but it was a deep wound and the last thing he wanted was for it to get more infected than it already was. Granted, he was the one that gave him that injury, but it’s not like he gave him a choice.

Or maybe he was just too angry to think about another option. That was probably the reason.

The face that greeted him was, for once, visible and familiar. A tall man with a knowing and cocky smile towered over him, black wavy hair covering a good part of his left eye and forehead, a katana in one hand and a black gun in the other, both weapons and part of his black and light blue suit covered by sprouts of blood. It probably wasn’t his, so he didn’t really bother to ask what happened, it probably was just one of the little jobs that granted all of them a few extra money.

“Not your business.” He just breathed, focusing again on the injury that he fully intended to treat. “Do you have a few gauzes?”

“I don’t need gauzes and I never take any with me. You should know that, Iwaizumi.” His voice sounded almost annoyed, probably because he wasn’t paying attention to his questions. Iwaizumi huffed and let the hand fall to the ground as he got up and walked towards the counter of the building, where he left the bag with everything he needed to have there. Usually, he’d either hit his targets from a higher up place or drag them to said place, so a bag full of weapons and first aid items really did come in handy. 

His friend waited for him, leaning on the wall with his back and his arms crossed over his chest. “So, what are you doing? Saving a guy isn't really like you.”

“I'm not a monster, you know,” he came back with a bottle of alcohol, a piece of cloth and a few gauzes and bandages, “I don't kill random people. And I knocked him out just because I saw you and Hiro following me.”

A familiar little giggle above their heads caught his attention. On the top of the roof just next to the one they were standing on stood a man slightly taller than Iwaizumi with pastel pink hair and pistachio green eyes, ever so attentive and focused on what the other two were talking about. “Aw, he caught us.” He pouted, right before jumping off to join them.

Iwaizumi looked at the both of them for a second, before pouring the alcohol on the sleeping man’s hand and clearing the hand covered in blood with the cloth, making sure to not go over the injury for the moment. He heard chattering behind him, but he didn’t really pay attention to it, preferring to keep himself out of their conversation that often ended up covering weird topics he never needed to know something about.

“What are you two even doing here?” He spat out after a few minutes, in the middle of wrapping bandages around the man’s hand. It was a deep wound, but it didn’t cover a large area and the bones were all intact, a bit of compression on it and well deserved rest would be enough for his body to heal itself.

Hanamaki crossed his arms, his white and red suit almost glowing in the night. “You've been acting strange lately.”

“I'm not acting strange.”

“You're avoiding going on missions with us.”

“I said this to Issei and I’m going to repeat it to you too: not your business.”

“Alright.” Hanamaki sat next to him, legs crossed and eyes still on the man in front of them. “Isn't that the crow guy?” Iwaizumi sighed and nodded, very well aware that he wouldn’t be able to get out of this if he stood completely in silence. “What are you doing with the crow guy?”

“He started it.” Iwaizumi simply huffed, starting to knot the bandages over the back of the man's hand so they wouldn’t just unwrap themselves from around it when he’d leave him there. It sounded harsh, sure, but he really couldn’t bring him somewhere. He knew of the clinic for vigilantes, so he’ll just be giving them a heads up on where they could find him.

“Well,” Matsukawa said as he looked at him, “he's a hero, after all.”

Hanamaki turned towards Iwaizumi, raising an eyebrow, his green eyes thoughtful and curious. “And why didn't you kill him?”

“He's a good fighter and he's not a criminal.” Iwaizumi got up, gathering his things and putting them in his bag, swinging it over his shoulder. He didn't even look at the other two, taking out the phone to call the clinic. The sooner he got out of that situation and the sooner he could think about fixing what the vigilante prevented him to act on. 

“Come on,” Matsukawa's voice ringed in his brain, “Oikawa is waiting.”

“Is he still with…” Hanamaki left the question in the air, searching in his memories for the right name. Despite how much they all said they didn't care for whoever Oikawa dated, they were way too ready to jump on whoever hurt him and to befriend whoever made him happier.

“He calls him Tetsu-chan.” Matsukawa said, changing his serious tone to an entertained one when he said the little nickname and, at the same time, Iwaizumi groaned.

“He sounds annoying.”

“Every single one of his lovers sounded annoying to you.”

“And they  _ were _ .”

“It looks like he really likes this one, though. He isn't telling him his father is, like, a super powerful demonic entity.”

“Wow, that's new.” Hanamaki noted, jumping on the next roof. His friends followed him without many problems, since it was almost attached to the one they were on. “Where did he meet him again?”

“He said they met at a bar, fought for a blondie and then started to know each other.”

“Rocky.” Hanamaki gestured towards Iwaizumi's face, still blurry from the spell he put on before leaving home. “Can you take off that thing?”

Iwaizumi huffed, a bit annoyed by the request. He needed that mask, he didn't want authorities searching for him, but he had a second reason to use it. They knew why, they just didn't really get what hiding his face meant for him. After all, their faces didn't have many scars on them, their skin was soft and pale, not marked everywhere by burns and scars like his was. He wasn't embarrassed by it, he remembered why he got to the point his face was barely recognizable and he'd do it again, but it still hurt too much for his liking, in more than one way.

He needed that spell to ease the pain and hide it, since he already knew it wouldn't go away with normal treatments.

“Speaking of which,” Hanamaki turned to Matsukawa, “someone knows  _ what _ that spell is called? Is it just... hiding spell?”

The man shrugged, the expression on his face saying loud and clear that he didn't really care. “Oikawa should know.”

“I better hope so, since he's the one giving it to us.” Iwaizumi chimed in, tone as casual as it could get. He was still thinking about the man he abandoned up there– an innocent man that knew how to fight and helped him– without really calling for help. He said he would, but he didn't really know what he should tell them, since he was the one to put him in that state.

Maybe he had to do more than patching up his hand. Maybe he could-

No. Nope. No way in hell he'd carry him to the clinic. They'd see him, ask him way too many questions and blame him for stabbing his hand, almost causing him a concussion and whatever happened the last time they met.

Thing that, admittedly, was his fault, but he'd rather get a punch to the face by the man he hurt than hearing people shaving it in his face.

Hanamaki's voice brought him back to reality, but just because it was way too loud to miss. “I think it has something to do with colors.”

“Why should it have to do with colors?” Iwaizumi asked, raising an eyebrow in confusion. He used two different spells for his face, the first being the one to relieve the hurt and the second the one that blurred his face, but neither of them were really related to colors in functionality or appearances.

Hanamaki shrugged, without an ounce of care in his voice. “Just a feeling.”

“You would make a horrible sorcerer.”

“Excuse you, I'd be an  _ amazing _ sorcerer. Better than Oikawa, even.”

“At least you don't start talking in weird languages as soon as you wake up.” Matsukawa groaned, taking the metallic stairs that lead to a higher up place from where they could jump from to get to the next roof, to their right instead of straight ahead.

“It's not weird,” Iwaizumi followed him, “it's spanish.”

“So? Why does he have to talk in spanish?”

“Something about a bet with a guy. If he lost, he'd have to talk in a language of his choice for at least an hour a day.”

“Who the fuck makes a bet like that?” Hanamaki got to the place where they were as well, looking at Iwaizumi with an expression that was between the confused and offended.

“His name was Futakuchi, if I remember correctly.”

“You and Oikawa have the weirdest adventures sometimes.”

“You and Mattsun pretended to be government agents to go to Osaka for free last week.” Iwaizumi pointed his finger towards Matsukawa. “And you somehow managed to find your ex there.”

“Kindaichi is alright, thanks for asking.” Matsukawa answered, not really minding the reminder of his ex boyfriend. After all, it wasn't serious, both of them just needed something else on their minds. “Apparently now he's with this little ray of sunshine that's… really good looking, I have to say.”

“And!” Hanamaki almost yelled, a thing that Iwaizumi hated, but that was on him. He rarely even slept a decent amount between the two jobs he had and his nightlife. “I talked with a really good looking guy. He said he lives in Tokyo, but he stopped by to say hi to a friend. I really,  _ really _ hope to see him again.”

Iwaizumi was happy for him, he really was, but right now he couldn't stand their enthusiasm about illegally going to Osaka to fuck with strangers. He didn't know if it was because a dude showed up and made his hope to find what he was searching for slip through his fingers or because he almost killed someone that didn't deserve it, but he felt guilty. Guilty of not being able to find out more about why the Yakuza was doing deals with an organization nearly no one knew anything about, guilty of not listening to the man when he first started to talk, guilty of leaving him there as if that beating wasn't his responsibility the moment the other stopped to hit him back.

He knew he could lose his temper sometimes, he knew he could have just stopped when the man just started to talk– even if he was starting to ask too many things for his liking– and he knew he could have just walked away before pinning him to the wall. He knew he made a mistake.

“Hajime?”

His name hung around in the cold breeze of the night with no answer, his mind still working on a solution about his other, bigger problem. He needed to find out a way to fix his actions and, as much as he didn't like sticking his neck out, the only way he saw possible was bringing the man to the clinic.

Iwaizumi raised his head, before sprinting from where he'd walked away from. He needed to do this, at least to just lighten the weight on his chest.

“Go on, I'll catch up with you guys later.”

“What?”

“I need to do something.”

The other two looked at each other with knowing stares, but Iwaizumi didn't really care. He was aware they knew what he wanted– no,  _ needed _ to do and they possibly couldn't stop him. He was too stubborn to just make them change his mind. 

“Why do you care so much about a guy that you almost killed?” Hanamaki asked after a long pause. “He's just that. A guy.”

“I don't know.” Iwaizumi huffed, a bit angry at himself for not truly understanding why he felt the need to save that man. “I just can't leave a guy wanted by the government on a roof hoping that someone will save him when I was the one who put him in that state.”

His reasoning made sense, they all recognized it, but Iwaizumi wasn't too satisfied with his answer. It was true, he felt guilty leaving him there, especially since he injured him pretty badly, but he never did it with anyone else. Maybe it was because he actually tried to talk with him, tried to understand why he was doing that, or maybe it was just because he was a really good fighter and more good fighters meant less criminals.

Maybe it was because, although he tried to kill him, he didn't raise a finger more than necessary.

“Come back before morning.” Matsukawa's deep voice came, ringing loud in his brain.

Iwaizumi pouted, crossing his arms over his chest. “I know, I know.”

“Kiss him goodnight for me!” Hanamaki said from behind Mattsun, ready to jump below, taking a path in which no one could see them passing.

“Shut up and go already.” Iwaizumi snorted, trying to look pissed but only managing a half smile. Despite their various shenanigans, he did love them like his own brothers and they were probably, along with Oikawa, the only ones he'd entrust his life to.

Despite everything, he thanked whoever made them meet every day of his life.

A hand reached his shoulder, squeezing it gently. Looking up, he saw Matsukawa's face, not really focused on him, watching Hanamaki. It was understandable, their bond was stronger than the one with Iwaizumi or Oikawa, even if none of the two fully understood it. It was about a curse, being bonded by death, some soulmate bullshit thrown in it too.

“Don't worry.” Iwaizumi said, fully knowing that he wanted to say he had to be careful and return home. “Take care of Tooru for me.”

Matsukawa finally turned to him, smiling softly and giving him a few parts on his shoulder before he took the bag Iwaizumi still had on his shoulders. “Take care.”

“You too.” Iwaizumi nodded, quickly waving to then walk all the way back to the roof he left the man at.

He hoped he'd still be there, his mind already busy processing every possible scenario and his sense of guilt growing by the second.

When he arrived, he immediately looked for the man, finding him still on the ground– he knocked him out five minutes ago at best, after all. He sighed and crouched down, managing somehow to get the man's body to lay on his back, hands over his shoulders and thighs securely held by his hands. It wasn't the most practical way to get him to the clinic, but it was better than carrying him in any other way.

They were both lucky the clinic wasn't that far away from where they were, just a few streets down and hidden from the most travelled paths.

Iwaizumi found out the man had a habit of clinging to whatever his hands could grab as he hid his face in the warmest point he could find, so much that he could feel his sane hand clinging on his shirt and his hot breath slightly brushing against his neck.

At least he wasn't seriously hurt when Iwaizumi knocked him out.

He felt him mumble something too, but he didn't quite catch it. It sounded more like a whine than a word anyway, so he didn't really care. He knew that the position he was in wasn't the most comfortable, so that may be the reason why he did it.

“Hey!”

Iwaizumi stopped in his tracks when he saw a kid in front of him. He was way younger than him, maybe reached 20 years old and had wavy platinum hair and honey brown eyes. He was pointing his index finger at them and… he had cat ears.

Oh no.

Oh no, no, no.

He won't talk with a fucking catboy.

Before he could tell him to fuck off because, honestly, carrying a grown men as big as the one on his shoulders was already too much for his evening, his ears perked up and a big, soft, platinum tail started to move being the kid.

Amazing.

That wasn't even a catboy, that was a whole fucking magical furry. Fuck his life.

“Is that D-”

“He has a secret identity,” another voice came and a kid almost identical to the blonde one appeared beside him, “shut it.”

Like the first one, he had ears and tail, but this time they were dark brown and grey. He looked calmer too, but Iwaizumi still didn't talk. They still were magical furries and, as much as he was familiar with magic shit, the night was already being too difficult for him to engage in an argument with them.

He felt the man on his shoulders whine again and clench his fish harder in the fabric of his shirt, his breath erratic for a second before returning to normal. It was probably for the two kids being loud, but he hypothesized that was just something he did while he slept. It was kind of cute too, if he thought about it long enough.

For his mental sanity, he stopped himself before he admitted to it, and quietly watched the twins as they kept discussing… whatever the fuck they thought it was worth discussing.

Like it wasn't enough, now the man was hugging him with his arms and curling his legs around his waist.

That was, without a doubt, the worst night of his life.

Luckily for him, the door of the clinic opened and a man about his age came out. He had black and silver hair while his eyes were hazel brown and he wore a white lab coat.

Upon his arrival, the two kids fell into a religious silence.

“We can take it from here.” He smiled, warm and welcoming. “Thank you for bringing him here, come on in.”

Iwaizumi freezed for a second, thinking about going into the building. He stood there for a few seconds, his hand squeezing the other man's thighs, stopping just when he heard a soft whine and the feeling of his hair slowly brushing against his neck.

Not cute. At all.

He eased his grip on the man’s thighs and sighed, feeling him relax too. Like he said, the worst day of his life. “I really can't.”

“You were the one to beat him up, weren't you?” The white haired man asked, taking a step forward to let two animals Iwaizumi couldn’t quite place inside the building. He invited him in with a gesture of his hand. “Come on in.”

Iwaizumi grumbled under his breath, not really happy about how things were turning out, but he followed him. It’s not like he had any other choices, right? He was the one to knock him out, he was the one who took him all the way there, so he had to at least follow this guy’s instructions.

“Do you know him?” He asked as he carefully put the man on the bed indicated by the doctor- he had to be the doctor if he had a white lab coat, right?- and unlocked the fingers from his shirt. A man that couldn’t be older than him reached them almost immediately, quickly checking his pupils. He had to be a sorcerer or have some kind of magic, since the hiding spell was still working. Iwaizumi didn’t know the technicalities of it, but Oikawa hinted that magic users trained enough were able to break it momentarily, since it wasn’t that powerful of a spell.

Iwaizumi wasn’t an expert on his best days, but he did use some magic whenever he needed it and Oikawa wasn’t there as a support. After all, like his friend always said, magic can be learned. Magic doesn’t require its user to be talented, or born different, or a magic creature. Everyone could learn it, with the right amount of passion, dedication and studying. Of course, there were exceptions, there were demons or bloodlines that were talented enough to use magic on instinct with less studying and practice, but that wasn’t the case most of the time.

Despite that, the grand majority of the people using that specific hiding spell were vigilantes that needed to protect their identity from the police, cameras and common people, so it didn’t really matter how powerful it was, as long as it did its job.

The doctor nodded, looking at the man on the bed quite fondly. “He's a friend.” He turned to look at him, his expression neutral and analytic, trying to understand who he was dealing with. “You're the one some people call the Guardian, right?”

“I don't really like the name.”

“It's understandable. How badly did you hurt him?”

“I just shot him and smashed his head against the wall.”

“Just?” The one taking care of the man stopped to look up at the both of them with a bewildered expression. Iwaizumi just stared back, not muttering a word, waiting for some sort of confirmation that never came.

Instead, the doctor answered the question.“Considering he almost made him fall to his death last time, I'd say it's a better turn out than I expected.”

Iwaizumi turned to him, trying to study his expression. It didn’t say much, if he had to be honest, those were the facts and his voice was just exposing them as they were. Despite that, he couldn’t help but hear a note of slight anger. It was really subtle, but expected. He did almost kill his friend, after all.

“I'm sorry for that, actually.” Iwaizumi somehow managed to force out, still unsure on how that man viewed him as.

“Not this one?”

“That too.”

“Akagi, can you go on for a bit without me? Patch up that bullet wound.”

The doctor rested a hand on his back, pushing him a little, making him understand he wanted to talk to him in private. Iwaizumi followed him, already preparing himself for the "if you hurt him again" talk. He was his friend, after all. He didn't say anything though, waiting patiently for the other to begin, since he was the one pushing him to talk.

He looked at him after a second, turning just to see how the man was doing. They must have been close, if he gave him that kind of stares so often.

“Thank you for taking him here.” The doctor began, tone serious and grave. “He can be… difficult, sometimes. Stubborn, will driven, careless. If you really feel sorry for hurting him, stick around. He needs a friend that can understand him.” 

“I tried to kill him, I don't think he  _ wants  _ to be my friend.”

“Trying to kill him is the way many people got to get close to him, actually.” He smiled, and Iwaizumi didn't know if he was speaking from experience or not. He probably wasn't, he didn't have that kind of attitude. 

Plus, if he was a doctor, he swore not to hurt anyone, he wouldn't try to kill him.

“Your lives are fucked up,” the doctor rested a hand on his shoulder, “if you'll explain why you tried to kill him he'll probably understand.”

“What?”

“He's a nice guy. He cares about people others wouldn't even think about. He's a good friend most of the time.”

“Most of the time?”

“You can ask him when he'll wake up.”

Right. He'll wake up. He'll have to talk to him, one way or another, at least to explain why he did what he did, why he took him there. The truth was that he just felt guilty, but he would find a way to complicate it.

Because that was just how it worked.

Iwaizumi looked at the man, deciding what he should do, if he should stay or return home, if he wanted to talk to him immediately or not. He walked closer to him, seeing the wound his bullet caused patched up. He sighed, turning to the doctor. “Sorry, I'm not staying that late.”

“I'll tell him you were the one taking him here.” He smiled, moving beside the man and taking the injured hands in his to check on the gravity of the situation. 

He unwrapped it, carefully and slowly, blood already falling again from the palm of the hand. With a movement of his hand, the doctor touched the wound, and it started to repair itself at a worryingly fast rate. The blood even floated until it was behind his skin again.

“Alright.” Iwaizumi breathed, obviously too overwhelmed by how much that place relied on magic. It's not like he hated it, he just… didn't understand it. 

Iwaizumi watched behind him, directly to the man on the bed, almost concerned. He then looked up to the other two, almost nervous. “Tell him to, uh, heal up. Okay?”

“Sure.” The doctor answered, ever so welcoming. “Have a nice journey back.”

He nodded and took his leave, still thinking about whatever just happened. Besides carrying a complete stranger he just beat up to an hospital, he also had a conversation with one of his close friends and he was considering being friends with him.

The sole thought of having a friend outside Matsukawa, Hanamaki and Oikawa was… weird. They've been together for all their lives, they considered each other family by now. They've been holding onto one another through everything, they never really had many friends because there was a real possibility of them to be used and killed.

Despite all that, despite everything his brain was telling him about being cautious and not to trust strangers, that man was the only one who sincerely tried to talk to him like that.

And he already saved him. It's not like there was any reason for him to hate him.

As he felt the cold wind slightly move his hair, he mentally promised himself that he'd try to talk to him again, at least. In a proper way this time.

He just hoped he wanted the same thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At some point they'll talk decently to each other... Maybe they'll see each other's faces too... But Iwaizumi finally spoke :,)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be the last chapter for a while because exam season starts, but I wanted to post this one on Daichi's bday, so!! Enjoy a slightly longer chapter than usual :P

Saying that was a shitty day was an understatement. 

Iwaizumi was no stranger to assholes, he’s been living with Oikawa for over two decades, but being kicked out of his apartment because a certain someone that he wasn’t really fond of stopped him from taking the sums of money he needed in order to live was a whole new level of shitty. He thought that, maybe, helping out the vigilante that he almost killed twice would come in handy too later on- other than having done a nice thing for him, but all he got in return was his annoyingly blurred face getting in the way every single time he tried to do his job.

The man was good, really good, and he had some insane moves- Iwaizumi even admired his tenacity and the amount of practice he had to put into it, but it was annoying how much he followed him around.

Thanks to him, he couldn’t take the money the scums he hunted down had in their bank accounts, so he couldn’t pay for the rent in time and the asshole he had to pay got angry. He couldn’t even give some money to the people they’ve wronged, so he had to come up with a plan to solve the problem.

“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath, lighly kicking his bag. He knew where he had to go now, and the idea didn’t thrill him particularly. He took out his phone almost as a reflex, calling one of the three starred contacts, huffing once or twice while he waited for a response.

Iwaizumi just hoped he wasn’t fucking anyone at the moment.

“Hey Haj-” His breath hitched, laughing for a fraction of second and probably furthering the phone away from his ear, since what he said next was too flebile for Iwaizumi to hear.

Which meant he was fucking his new boyfriend. Amazing. Exactly what he needed.

“Can you tell your friend there to wait a second?”

“Is there a problem?”

“I just need the spell for my face and something to ask you.”

“Hold on.” Iwaizumi heard him say something along the lines of ‘I’ll see you later’ and ‘sorry, I need to do this, I’ll call you’, before he came back on the phone. “Where do you want to meet?”

“Wherever.”

“We can meet at my place. Tell me where you are.”

Iwaizumi looked around, checking no one would see him. He knew how Oikawa intended to meet him- it was the fastest way, he wasn’t complaining, but showing off demonic magic in public was never a really good idea. “Outside of my former apartment.” He whispered as soon as he was sure no one was around.

Oikawa fell silent for a second. “Former?”

“Yeah. Former.”

“Bad day, understood.” 

Iwaizumi heard some noise on the other end, meaning that he was preparing something to bring him there. Spells, he learned with time, required a certain basis to work. It could be a word said out loud, a certain movement, a memory, a magical object or natural materials, like herbs or blood. That time around, if he remembered correctly, it was his blood, a gesture of the left hand and a bit of fire.

Iwaizumi physically heard Oikawa smirk, along with a familiar heat in his chest, then his friend warned him. “Hold on tight.”

In the blink of an eye, he found himself in Oikawa’s apartment, which, all things considered, wasn’t even too weird. After all, he was a sorcerer able to create magic fire out of thin air, people would expect his apartment to be a little weird, but the strangest thing present in those four walls was the set of candles he always kept near his bed. When people asked him why they were there, he kept saying that it was because he wanted to save on electricity– a statement that, for some reason, many people believed in– or to be romantic during some nights, but Iwaizumi knew it was for his spells and rituals.

Granted, he almost never used them, preferring natural organic materials and blood. He said they didn't work well enough for him and he didn't like the type of results they led to, so he stuck to other ways.

“So.” Oikawa looked at Iwaizumi, arms crossed and leaning on the wooden table at the centre of the room.

Iwaizumi sighed, already regretting coming all the way there. It wasn't because he wasn't good at what he did, he was the best sorcerer he knew of and his best friend, but he did kick out his boyfriend, so he had no shirt on.

A show that Iwaizumi wasn't really fond of when he had to ask him something, honestly.

“Get dressed, asshole.” Iwaizumi's tone was gruff and stern, but there was something similar to undeniable care too.

Oikawa huffed and didn't move for a couple of seconds, ignoring his best friend's heavy glare, until he moved off the table and grabbed a light blue t-shirt.

Iwaizumi wanted to wait until he got dressed completely, but Oikawa started to talk midway through anyway. “What happened to your apartment?”

“A stupid vigilante keeps getting in the way and I can’t take the scums’ money anymore.”

“I told you it wasn’t going to hold up, but go on.”

He was right.

Iwaizumi would never say it out loud, but Oikawa was right.

He should have known that at some point someone would try to stop him, that the money was going to run out, that the smell of blood would make someone suspicious.

The pain on his jaw stopped his train of thoughts and he let out a hiss, catching Oikawa's attention again. Iwaizumi reached out with a hand, relaxed, his left eye closed from the pain on his cheek too. “I need the things for the spell again.” He muttered, trying to be as understandable as possible.

Oikawa immediately gave him a little glass bottle, full of a navy blue liquid. “Remember not to press too much, or it’ll hurt even more.”

His friend nodded, tucking the bottle in the pocket of his black pants. “I know, I know.”

The brunette looked at him playing with the glass, rotating it in his hand before putting it away, taking on almost a guilty expression. He stayed in silence for a while, until Iwaizumi raised his head and focused on him again. “How’s the face?”

“Like always.” Iwaizumi shrugged, taking a seat on the ground. “Still ugly, still hurting, still burned.”

Oikawa took a deep breath, obviously feeling in need to do something about his friend’s little problem. Iwaizumi’s face was scarred almost everywhere, with pitch black lines marking his cheeks, jaw, nose, mouth, forehead, neck, ears and eyelids and more than a few burned spots under his eyes and on his cheekbones. It wasn’t pretty to look at for most people, and part of the reason why he had a bit of a hard time getting settled down. Everyone just assumed he was some criminal for his constant scowl and grunts and his burned face- which, admittedly, was kind of true, seeing how he killed people for a living, but it still wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair that he was the one who had to deal with the consequences of actions that weren’t his to begin with.

“Sorry.” Oikawa murmured, before sitting on one of the wooden chairs in the room.

Iwaizumi didn’t even look at him. “You were seven and scared, it’s not your fault.”

“You keep excusing my shitty actions.”

“There’s nothing to excuse, it wasn’t your fault.”

Both of them perfectly knew what that conversation would have led to, if they kept going, since they had it every single time Oikawa mentioned his face. They’d argue because, while Iwaizumi firmly believed that getting those scars was entirely his own choice and nothing that Oikawa could have done or said would have changed that, Oikawa thought that it was his fault because now he had to live his whole life with a mistake he did.

It just wasn’t fair.

Oikawa was about to answer again, but he stopped when he saw Iwaizumi’s solid grip on the little bottle of glass, in his hand again. He knew he still suffered, he still felt the pain, he still hated his face, but he was so gentle and caring that he would never admit that it was someone else’s fault- someone who cared about, even. In his stead, the brunette would have just lashed out on whoever did it, preferably having a lifetime long grudge against them.

Luckily for him, though, his best friend was the gentlest, most caring, most selfless person he has ever known. He wouldn’t hold a grudge against him, Matsukawa or Hanamaki in his worst days.

“Did you need anything else?” Oikawa finally asked, moving on from the topic. Neither of them needed to argue now, especially since Iwaizumi’s day seemed bad enough.

“Yeah.”

“I have everything you-”

“I need my best friend right now, Tooru.”

The first name lingered in the air for a couple of seconds, replaying in Oikawa’s head. Iwaizumi rarely used it and, whenever he did, it meant that he either really needed support or something really bad was about to happen.

Oikawa was betting it was the second one.

“What happened?”

“Do you remember the orphanage?”

He tensed up at the mention of the place where they grew up. Those memories weren’t pleasant, especially for Oikawa. He still remembered the suffocating white walls, the heavy metallic door he tried to melt so many times, the deafening silence all around him, the sound of the flames that kept regenerating to protect him whenever someone would step in.

Those were memories he tried to bury way too many times, but, at the same time, he wanted to keep them for the little light that Iwaizumi brought during difficult days. He used to sneak into the room thanks to someone else’s help from the adult staff, so he could stay with him for a bit. It started out as curiosity, but soon it evolved into daily visits so he wouldn’t feel so alone anymore.

Although, that was also how he got that face. Oikawa wasn’t still able to control or contain his fire, therefore the moment an emotion expressed itself, so did the flames.

Iwaizumi never backed down or abandoned him for it.

Oikawa took a deep breath before finally answering to his friend. “Of course I do. They tried to torture me. They tortured Mattsun to the point Makki had to intervene and then they started to torture him too.”

“I think I found them, their organization. It's still just a lead and nothing more, but-”

“Turn back.”

Oikawa's stern voice echoed in the room, unexpectedly making Iwaizumi look at him with his spent grey eyes. To that day, not even Oikawa knew why they were so dark and tired every time they looked at him.

Iwaizumi snorted, almost laughing at the suggestion. “No way in hell.”

“Hajime. Let go.”

“Not now that I know what they do.”

“You can't save everyone.”

Again, Oikawa's reminder made the room fall in silence. They both knew what he was hinting at and how much Iwaizumi wanted the memory, the sense of loss, the guilt, to just disappear.

He knew they won't.

He knew he had the life of someone he cared about on his hands.

He knew nothing would bring him back.

The hope, though, was still there. The hope of seeing him smile again, the hope of hearing his voice another time, the hope of not remembering how his blood felt against his face, how heavy his body was, how his lifeless eyes looked up to him.

He couldn't save him. His death was his fault.

Iwaizumi huffed, slightly annoyed, pretending that sentence didn't make him think about him again. “Trust me, that's not my intention.”

“And what is? Getting yourself killed?”

“Saving children.” His grey eyes linked with Oikawa’s brown eyes, loosely dropping the bottle into the bag again. His stare was confident to say the least, he had that murderous and dangerous aura that granted him his codename when they were younger, the one Oikawa still didn’t know if it was a compliment or a straight up offence. 

Although, he knew one thing for sure, and that was that it was absolutely terrifying.

“I won't turn back now.” Iwaizumi almost growled it out, the index of the right hand flinching a couple of times down his sides.

Oikawa dropped his stare and clenched his fists, resting them on his thighs. He knew perfectly that he wouldn’t change his mind; once Iwaizumi Hajime said he’d do something, he’d do it. There wasn’t a way around it, not even for his best friend and the one he trusted his life into time and time again.

Either way, he couldn’t just shut up and let him do whatever he wanted, so he took a deep breath and looked at him in the eyes, even if it hurt every single time. Most of the scars were from when they were younger, but he started to collect more after he started to gun down people, the most noticeable being the one that divided his left eye in two halves.

“I don't want to see you barely breathing again.” Oikawa spat out, his voice full of frustration, anger and worry. His gaze was focused on Iwaizumi’s tired grey eyes, an expression he wasn’t really fond of. He remembered his metallic eyes when they were at the orphanage, flickering with joy and curiosity, now almost completely gone, displaying a color way more similar to concrete. Spent, tired, inexpressive, ugly.

Dead.

It was almost as if he was looking at a corpse.

Oikawa tensed for a second at the sight of Iwaizumi not losing his composure or changing his expression when he mentioned the possibility of him dying. It was something he accepted a long time ago, probably in the moment he stepped into the room of the orphanage where Oikawa was kept, but it still struck him to this day.

It’s not that he wasn’t afraid of dying, he simply accepted that he could die as some sort of consequence of his job. He remembered that once he compared it to falling to the ground after tripping in your own shoelaces.

Thinking that death was something he considered as a part of his everyday routine was sickening, but Oikawa understood. It was something Matsukawa and Hanamaki did too, probably due to the nature of their own abilities.

Still, he hated it.

At the sight of Iwaizumi’s eyebrow rising in an interrogative expression, Oikawa released the breath he didn’t realize he was holding and continued to talk. “I don't want to be the one putting your organs in the place they're supposed to be. I don't want to see you coughing up your own blood and your face covered in it.” He felt a few tears forming in his eyes at the memories, but the deadpanned expression of his friend made sure he sent them back and kept going. “You can't just get up and go against an entire organization on your own.”

Iwaizumi looked up to him with an inexpressive face, probably examining every gesture, every word, every nuance, every expression his best friend just made display of, something he always did when someone he cared about was that upset. Just when Oikawa was thinking about leaving or saying something just to strike a couple of nerves- because, honestly, this was taking too much- the man stood up and walked up to him, bucking down to hug him tightly.

Oikawa didn’t really expect it, but he knew he preferred to show love and support through gestures more than words. He just hugged back, resting his forehead in the crook of his neck, letting the heat calm him down, perfectly knowing that, despite what he may look like, Iwaizumi was absolutely the best hugger he ever had the pleasure to meet.

“I'll be okay.” Iwaizumi’s voice echoed in his brain over and over again, like a mantra that he needed to be reminded of. “I'll get out of it alive and come home to kick your ass again.”

The brunette snorted out a laugh without even thinking about letting him go. “You're so fucking stupid.” He raised his head, looking as his friend let him go and stood up again. “If you don't come back, I'm just going to raise you back from the dead!” Oikawa crossed his arms with a voice so sure of himself that, if they hadn’t known each other for over twenty-five years, it would seem like he was serious about it.

“You can't possibly do that.” Iwaizumi rolled his eyes and huffed, fully knowing that now the conversation would be easier. Oikawa was joking about his magic, so the worst part was already gone anyway.

“Hey, I'm partly a demon!” Oikawa screeched, visibly offended. “I'm pretty sure I can raise the dead.”

“Like you could wish aliens to life?”

“Okay, first, I was ten and inexperienced. Second, I'm pretty sure I can now!”

“You can't.”Iwaizumi sighed as he sat down again, still spent from the night before. “Get it into your head, you can't just create things out of thin air. You were the one who said it to me.”

It was true, Oikawa thought, sorcerers of any kind couldn’t just create things without them already existing. Powerful necromancers, for example, could raise the dead, but without anything resembling a soul inside, they’ll just be zombies, dead people walking, not more alive than before.

Oikawa sighed and put a hand on his chest, smirking proudly. He knew that Iwaizumi really didn’t care and even hated magic, but he needed it to hide his face, lessen the pain on his skin, run away when he needed it, heal himself for a particularly bad injury. It was useful and he recognized it, so he listened to Oikawa when he explained the basis of every type of sorcery. 

The brunette cupped his own face with a hand, looking at him almost dreamily. “I'm such a good teacher.”

Iwaizumi huffed, rolling his eyes in annoyance. “You're a horrible teacher and an even worse listener.”

“That's just not true.”

“You still can't create aliens or bring people back to life.”

“Alright, maybe I can't, but I know someone who knows someone who can, so don't worry about death.”

“Yeah, I'll still try not to die, thanks.”

“Try to succeed, because calling him would be a bother for me specifically.”

“Why?” Iwaizumi asked, raising an eyebrow as he stood up again, sliding the little glass bottle in his pocket. “Because you have to admit that you can't do something?”

Oikawa snuffled a laugh. “You know me so well.”

Iwaizumi grumbled something under his breath, before taking everything he still had with him- the weapons in his bag, mostly- and hugged Oikawa again, tighter this time. His friend did the same, before letting go again, thinking about saying something to stop him again, to try and change his mind again.

As if Iwaizumi knew, he cupped his face and dragged it down, just enough so he could leave an affectionate kiss between his forehead and milk chocolate brown hair. He used to do it whenever he had to go away from his room back when they were in the orphanage, and the habit never really left.

Oikawa closed his eyes, remembering how much love that single gesture let him take in, cherishing every second of it. “Be careful out there.” He said, as soon as Iwaizumi’s lips left his skin. “I can't help you directly right now.”

“I know.” Iwaizumi held his bag on his shoulder, trying not to hiss from the pain he always felt when he touched his friend. It was like the marks were saying to stay away from the one that created them, and he hated every second of it. He loved Oikawa more than anyone else, he wanted to be able to hug and comfort him and play around with him whenever he wanted without having to feel like his face was about to lit itself on fire, but his body almost rejected it. 

That’s why he had to move out a few years back, his body would refuse itself to stay around him for too much. He stayed with Matsukawa and Hanamaki for a while, making sure they wouldn’t get themselves in trouble, keeping an eye on Oikawa too, just in case. Luckily, he just stepped out of the game like Iwaizumi hoped. He was the one he made the most sacrifices for to always keep a few options open, and now he was a quite successful photographer. He’s always loved it, so he really wasn’t surprised he chose that path, but he was beyond glad he didn’t choose to have a double life. He just helped them when they needed and that was it.

Still, he’d like his body to stop telling him that Oikawa was a menace of some sorts. It was enough not being able to live without a magic solution on his face, if he couldn’t even see his best friend, he’d go insane.

Iwaizumi smirked at him when he thought about his friend’s warning, sure of himself. “I'm pretty convinced someone else will save my ass if I get cornered.”

“Mattsun?” Oikawa raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest, looking at him with impatience and curiosity.

“No,” Iwaizumi breathed out, “he can't know. Issei and ‘Hiro are both too involved in this, they'd just dive in without thinking about the consequences.”

They both knew what they went through in the orphanage, and neither of them had the guts to ask them about it. Iwaizumi vividly remembered Matsukawa screaming and the amounts of blood on his skin and clothes every time he came out to eat. He never saw him cry, but he was sure he did it whenever someone wasn’t watching. 

He was the one who had it worse, to Hanamaki’s saying, but Oikawa and Iwaizumi thought that dying every night with a bullet in your skull couldn’t have been too pleasing either. There wasn’t pain in the action itself, but they both suspected there was something between the pink haired boy dying and coming back that deeply scarred him, especially if it was done to him those many times.

Nevertheless, neither Matsukawa or Hanamaki talked about it with them- giving the amount of time they spent together and how their whole soulmate thing work, Oikawa suspected they did talk about it with each other- and they never let it slow them down, so it wasn’t that serious of a problem at the moment.

Except both of them would have to keep a secret that had something to do with them directly for the first time in more than two decades.

“You actually have a friend?” Oikawa drifted his attention to another topic, not really one he wanted to talk about, but better than asking himself if he was going to be able to actually hide something so big from them for that long.

“Fuck off.” Iwaizumi stepped even closer to the door, ignoring Oikawa’s pleas to stop and explain, using that stupid nickname he always used when they were just joking around and nothing was happening.

He wouldn’t admit it to the most faithful friend of his, but he liked it. It brought with itself memories of easier days, in which he could just keep himself busy with innocent games and every problem at hand would have gone away.

Unfortunately for him, now he couldn’t do it anymore.

“He's not a friend,” Iwaizumi fell to his friend’s whining, turning towards him, “but he's been following me. I think he doesn't just want to be annoying, since he made sure cops couldn't see me once or twice already.”

Oikawa smirked at him, making finger guns. Saying that Iwaizumi was about to take a real gun and shoot himself to avoid the embarrassment was an understatement.

“A secret admirer then.” 

“Please, shut up.”

The other laughed out loud in a way Iwaiumi didn’t hear in a long,  _ long  _ time, and that did put a small smile on his face. It was really subtle, but it was there, and he almost enjoyed feeling his face hurt for something like that.

“So you're going to go in there, hope this mysterious guy is following you and kill people as a personal vendetta?” Oikawa asked, quickly turning to look at him, composed again, trying to understand again what he really wanted to do.

“It's not just a personal vendetta. They're doing what they did to Hiro and Issei to so many other children.” Iwaizumi shifted his weight from one leg to the other, trying to stand in that place, away from Oikawa enough that his burns wouldn't hurt too much, but close enough so he could see his every movement. “I want to try to save these children in the same way I wanted to save them twenty-eight years ago.”

Oikawa seemed uncertain, but he nodded anyway. “Alright, call when you're done.”

“Of course, I have to check up on you.”

“I'm thirty-four! I know how to be a full functioning adult.”

“Sure you do.” Iwaizumi attempted a smile, dissipating as quickly as the pain kicked in. It wasn't much, but he really needed to put on that lotion. “See you later.” He waved at him on his way out, hoping he wouldn't say anything weird.

Of course, he wasn't a very lucky man.

“Say hi to your admirer for me!” He heard from behind him, voice high and excited. He didn't answer, but he kind of hoped he'd show up, the back of his mind fully knowing he was going against certain death. It's not like he never did before, but it was new, relying on someone he didn't know.

For some reason, the thought just made him even more excited, catching himself thinking that, yes, that was a very good plan.

\---

That was a horrible plan and Iwaizumi deeply believed he was stupid to think for even a second it could work.

His left arm was bleeding, the feeling of the red, dense liquid running on his skin and dropping from his fingertips echoed in his brain louder and louder, the slick feeling of blood on his face suffocating him.

He felt like he was dying.

_ Not yet _ , he said to himself, remembering the promise he made to Oikawa, to return home and not dying before he could see him again.

Iwaizumi forced his legs to run down, avoiding points where people could see him, trying to reach the streets. The possibility of being caught by a cop was big, but he didn't really care. His bag was well hidden, his gun, knife and rifle the only weapons he had at disposal, and one of them was empty already. He needed a place to run to, or to recollect himself at least.

The door behind him banging itself open made his legs travel even faster, pushed them to take bigger, larger steps, his mind trying to analyze every single detail around him.

Focus.

Focus and try to run faster, choose a cleared path, buy some time.

Someone grabbed his black jacket, pulling him backwards, probably trying to get close to his neck enough to point a knife just under his chin, maybe even slicing it open. Iwaizumi immediately turned and his arm raised itself almost on reflex, shooting where he was sure he could kill the man that caught him and a few others.

His eyes trembled a bit at the sight of how many were following him, way more than he thought, but he forced himself to run forward a little more, for a little longer. He had to, if he wanted to get out of it alive.

Finally out of the building, he shut the door with little care about who would have heard it closing and checked if the road he wanted to take was free from any kind of cops. He really didn’t want to go to prison, since he was pretty sure that killing people could get someone there pretty quickly.

By sheer luck, cops weren’t in that area, so he proceeded with his plan. Now he just had to get to some place hidden and safe, hoping they wouldn’t find him.

Thing that Iwaizumi was about to do, if someone didn’t just fall on him.

He let out an annoyed and pained grunt, hoping the injuries weren’t worsened too much from the impact, before quickly recognizing who it was by the sound of his voice. 

“Just how stupid you are?”

“You weren’t forced to come and save me.” He pouted, pushing the man off of him and standing up as quickly as he could. 

“Who could I play around with, if not you?” The voice of the man shifted to his right, towards the building. Iwaizumi turned towards him, just to make sure he wouldn’t try to attack him too, but he just saw him trying to push an half empty dumpster in front of the door, probably to block it.

Iwaizumi thought about helping him, but it wasn’t probably a good idea, seeing the entity of his injuries. The man didn’t take much, he was obviously more trained than the average adult. Not necessarily some kind of super strong dude, he was just stronger than most, probably because he needed that amount of muscles to pull off his acrobacies.

“There’s a place with magic graffiti just below us,” he said as soon as he finished putting the dumpster there, barely in time, “we have to get there fast.”

“How come you know these things?”

“How come you  _ don’t  _ know these things? They can save your life, y’know.”

The man jumped in surprise a second later, probably caught off guard by the sudden push from behind the door. Iwaizumi groaned as he turned, left hand on his stomach. It wasn’t that deep of an injury, to be completely honest, but it was an injury. 

“Time to go, stalker.” He managed to spit out, before feeling something under him. A shoulder was there for support, and his hand landed right on it. Iwaizumi realized whose shoulder it was, but he didn’t push it away, since he’d probably fall without it to help him. He let it guide him for a while, trying to ignore the pain in his arm and the blood falling from his fingertips, eyelashes, forehead, hair tips. 

“I’m not a stalker.” The other slowed to a stop and crouched, bringing Iwaizumi down with him for a chance to sit for a few seconds, since there would be quite a bit of running from that moment on, to escape that situation. The man kept on sustaining him as pulled and pushed the sewer cover away enough from them so they could jump in. 

Something that Iwaizumi really didn’t look forward to if he had to be completely honest, but he didn’t have another option on the table.

“After you.” The man smiled as he helped Iwaizumi stand back up on his feet, gently pushing him towards the manhole. He followed his instructions- again, he didn’t have much of a choice there- and went down there how he could, trying to use just an arm and not stress the other too much.

As his feet touched the ground again and his back relied on the wall to help him to stand up, he noticed the light was fading out, probably because the other man was putting the sewer cover in its place. If he didn’t, finding them would have been a piece of cake, after all.

“I’m pretty sure you followed me for the past week.” Iwaizumi said, as soon as the man jumped on the ground not too far away from him.

“Yeah,” he breathed, stretching his arms while he turned, “because I wanted to talk to you. You either ran away or started to hit me.”

Iwaizumi grunted and rolled his eyes. “You could have said you wanted to talk.”

He huffed, before wrapping Iwaizumi’s good arm over his shoulders, his hand keeping him in balance by grabbing him by the hip, but never touching the injury he had on his stomach. His hold was solid, grounding, stable, but gentle and kind too, in some way. “Come on,” The man said, probably an attempt to push him to go further, “it’s not far.”

The words ringed for a few seconds in Iwaizumi’s brain before fully understanding what he had to do. Letting the man lead the way, he took as many steps as needed to at least have an average pace.

“You’re about as stubborn as I am, but that’s a good thing. At least I can butt heads with someone just as stupid.” The man looked around, ignoring the other’s annoyed groan, probably for the fact that magic graffiti existed. 

Thing that, by the way, was incredibly stupid if you asked Iwaizumi. Why would you use graffiti of all things? If someone found them and discovered what they could do, it would have been a huge problem for everyone, both the sorcerers and the vigilantes. 

Although, he thought, maybe they had some sort of protection spell, just to make sure the wrong people wouldn’t look too much into those signs or activate them.

His gaze went to the man that, for some reason he didn’t understand, was helping him. He tried to kill him several times, almost succeeding twice, and he was still there helping him. He was thinking about it ever since he fell on him out of the building, but for the life of him, he just didn’t understand. Why would he risk his own life to save him? Why would he help him like this? Why would he inform him of things only some people know like the teleporting graffiti in the sewers? Why-

“Why are you so friendly?” His mouth blurted out, not really thinking much before doing so. It was something on his mind that he wanted to ask him, sure, it just wouldn’t have been his first choice.

He chuckled for a few seconds before answering. “Not everyone is a serial killer. Besides,” he huffed, maybe from the annoyance or the amount of weight he had to sustain, “I think that the city needs someone like you.”

That statement made Iwaizumi turn again to watch him, which didn’t do much. The man had the spell on his face, he couldn’t see a thing. Even then, the confirmation that he didn’t hate him and, instead, thought his job was needed, shook him an ounce.

It’s easy to hate a killer. It’s one of the easiest things anyone can think of. Putting the blame on them, saying it was their fault, convincing everyone they’re a bad person and nothing they can say or do will ever make anyone accept an apology.

He knew what he was talking about, he’d been on both sides throughout his life.

This guy, though, didn’t blame him for almost killing him more than once. He even tried to clarify himself so he wouldn’t think… whatever he thought he was thinking about him. That man, Iwaizumi realized, was a really good person, rivalry aside.

_ He cares about people others wouldn’t even think about. _

The words the doctor said to him when he took him to the clinic flashed through his brain, somehow linking all the realizations he made up until that point. It wasn’t a sudden epiphania, something he wasn’t expecting to be true, it was more like uncovering something that's always been there, visible, under the light of the sun. It was like taking a sheet off of an old stuffed animal from your childhood and admiring it like the first time, gladly accepting the soft warmth it still gave you.

That’s what he looked like. It was almost like he wore that warmth, softness and utter kindness as a badge of honor, capturing everyone else in the process. He really cared about who no one cared about, and he made sure to show it. The way his hands gently held him steady on his hip and wrist, his steps slowed down to match his pace, never pushing him to go further or quicker, his deep voice changing to soft whispers when he wasn’t teasing him. Everything screamed that he was there for him, that he would take care of him until he could do it on his own.

For some reason, maybe for the amount of blood he was losing or the fact that that place stank so much he couldn’t feel his own smell, that made him smile. It was weak and imperceptible and the other man wouldn’t see it through the spell, but it was something he weirdly needed.

“What made you change your mind?” Iwaizumi asked, after several moments of silence, his voice echoing against the walls in the darkness of that place he was starting to hate more and more by the second. It wasn’t because of the company this time, but he couldn’t see, feel or smell anything at all and, even if their eyes were adapting to the absence of light, it would have been difficult to fight anyone down there.

His question lingered in the heavy air around them, until he tripped over something. The man grunted something, trying to make him land softly and not just with his ass against the floor. Iwaizumi grunted anyway when he did sit on the floor, more tired than hurt. 

“I don’t think it’s the right time to explain it.” The other finally replied, taking a closer look at Iwaizumi's injuries. They weren’t as bad as they looked, but they had to be taken care of, they both knew it. He raised his head slightly, looking at the wounded man. “Can you walk a little longer?”

Iwaizumi nodded weakly. “You’ll have to sustain my body more, though.”

The other man smiled, taking him by his wrist and hip again, forcing him to get up. It was slightly harsher than before, but he was still quite careful about not hurting him too much. To be completely honest, he didn’t even know if that was something he did on purpose or not, since he never felt his hands get rougher for the entirety of the time he held him. “Not a problem, as you can see.” He whispered, before stopping abruptly.

The taller man followed his gaze, trying to understand what made him do that and-

Oh.

Iwaizumi stared at the creature in front of them, some pitch black vines creeping towards the walls, the main body, dark green and as big as the tunnel they were in, with something that looked like a dark purple flower as the head. It didn’t have petals, just something that vaguely reminded of a landing platform. It looked like a plant in every way, but it moved, and its vines were silently creeping towards them.

His first instinct was screaming, but the man holding him beat him to it, with his ridiculously deep, warm and relaxed voice. “Now,” he breathed, a tint of annoyance escaping his mouth, “ _ that’s  _ a problem.”

“What  _ the fuck  _ is that.”

“I think it’s a mutant plant.”

“A  _ what _ .”

“Mutant plant!” He whispered again, probably trying to avoid the interest of the thing in front of them. “I don’t remember the name, but a friend warned me about it.”

Iwaizumi stood there for a second, stealing a couple of stares between him and the plant. “Why the fuck there’s a mutant plant in the sewers?” He asked, remembering to whisper just in case.

The man shrugged. “It’s thirsty, I don’t know.” He grunted, before changing posture. Now he was in front of him, back facing him, legs weakly bended and relaxed, arms slightly turned towards his body.

Oh, no.

Oh,  _ fuck _ , no, Iwaizumi wouldn’t jump on his back.

“Are you kidding?” He moved to avoid it, but all he effectively did was falling on his shoulders, since his legs decided to give up on him. He was basically laying down on him, but the man didn’t push him further nor took him up by force, even if the vines were getting closer and closer.

“No,” he whispered instead, “I don’t have the time to set it on fire and I don’t think my naturalist friend will be supportive of that.”

Iwaizumi huffed, almost annoyed that was the first thing coming to mind. “And I’m bleeding.”

“And you’re bleeding!” The man exclaimed, slowly moving his fingers to make him understand to hurry up. “Jump on, come on.”

“You better not make me regret it.” He groaned, letting him take him up on his shoulders. He wrapped his good arm around his neck, loosening it as much as he could but still grabbing the fabric of his shirt, just to be sure he’d be secure enough. Unexpectedly, the man’s hold was gentle and kind even then, way different than his own rough, harsh one. It wasn’t weaker, it was just... different.

The man slightly turned his hand towards him as the vines started to circle them more and more. “This could cause you to vomit, so  _ please  _ don’t do it on me.”

“Wha-”

Before Iwaizumi could even finish talking, they were quite literally flying above the plant’s head. Upside down. He hated it.

“Is this how you move?” He screamed as the man landed perfectly on the ground, just after the main body of the plant ended. It was a precise jump, everything was calculated perfectly, from the form in the air to the right spots to jump from. 

He didn’t even know how they got there, but it was amazing, how much control of his own body he had even when he wasn’t on the ground, almost as much as Iwaizumi did when he was handling a firearm or a knife.

The man chuckled softly and started to run, seeing how now the vines were following them faster and faster. “How else do you escape a mutant plant in the sewers?” He jumped again, this time in a set of metallic stairs used to get in and out of that tunnel.

Iwaizumi didn’t even know which way was facing, what was right ahead, below him or upwards, but he held on to the man, hoping he was as good as he let on at this parkour thing. He didn’t even know how bad his injuries were now, with all that jumping, running and turning.

“You’re crazy!” He spat out, closing his eyes as he was a wall coming way too close to his face than it should have.

A moment after, when he opened them, they were on the opposite side of the tunnel, floating in the air.

He hated it.

He hated how good this guy was at what he did and he hated how he was about to throw up everything he had in his body.

“Said the serial killer!” Came his voice, probably responding to the earlier comment. Iwaizumi didn’t really care, so he stopped replying, just focusing on surviving that stunt. 

The vines weren’t even following them anymore, so that was really just the guy being a complete and utter asshole by forcing him to stay there for much longer than needed.

Forget all that bullshit about warmth and kindness, he was just a dick.

As soon as they set foot on the ground again, Iwaizumi fell on the ground, partly because he just wanted to feel it again, partly because the man just let go of him without telling him anything. Because, again, he was a dick.

“Are you still there?” He asked, his blurred face not too far from his, crouching to see how he was doing, if he needed to throw up and, though his tone was seriously worried, Iwaizumi just couldn’t bring himself to actually believe he was.

“Barely.”

“Can you walk?”

Iwaizumi pushed himself to sit up with a groan, pressing against the injury on his stomach with his hand, before realizing he really didn’t know where to go from there. Everything hurt and he was starting to feel the tiredness he didn’t feel up to that point, so walking wasn’t really a good prospective.

The man crossed his arms, probably inspecting him. “You can’t walk.” He sighed, before standing up and moving behind him, crouching again to get under his good arm and helping him to stand up.

A groan left Iwaizumi’s mouth, who was almost thinking about thanking him, until he saw what he really wanted to do. It was pretty obvious, even to someone who was as far gone as him, the hand that once was on the hip moved on his ribcage, while the other hand was reaching behind his knees.

He knew he wanted to carry him and, for some reason, the idea wasn’t really appealing to him.

“Don’t you dare.”

“Don’t worry, no crazy jumps. I just want to get to the graffiti.”

Iwaizumi tried to push him, but he didn’t manage to use the amount of strength he wanted to and the man successfully raised him off the ground, one hand sustaining his back and the other just below his knees. He didn’t really look strained or felt much more weight to carry around than before, despite him being slightly shorter and slimmer than the other man.

A groan escaped Iwaizumi’s mouth, causing his head to rest for a fraction of second to the man’s shoulder. “Do you really have to carry me like this?”

“Why? Isn’t it romantic?” He teased, the smirk that had to be there on his face could be clearly heard through the tone and words he used.

Like he said, a dick.

“Put me down.”

“If I put you down, you’ll die. And I don’t really want to explain how it happened to your possible friends.”

At that, Iwaizumi shut up and let the silence grow way too much between them, not really doing something to stop it. His injuries were getting worse by the minute and talking surely wouldn't have helped. It was better to just hope that the man carrying him wouldn’t collapse at some point and he’d get them to those fucking graffiti in time and without meeting other weird plants that wanted to kill them.

He was about to fall asleep when he felt him slow down, the little movements and bumps against his right side stopping. Iwaizumi opened his eyes again, just to be greeted with the sight of a few colorful, bright graffiti pulsating against the dull, grey walls of the tunnel he found himself in. There was a nice smell resembling mint too, probably coming from the same signs on the wall. It was hard believing just vigilantes and sorcerers were aware it existed, since it was that noticeable, but maybe it recognized who could use it or it was activated in a way he was failing to notice at the moment.

Iwaizumi raised his eyebrow at the man, slightly confused. “Is that the graffiti?”

The other nodded, gently laying him on the ground, against the wall, not too distant from the source of light that was almost hurting his eyes. “Hold on.” He heard the man say, not really understanding what he meant with that sentence.

As he wondered what was going on, the man crouched, facing the graffiti, a finger tracing the border of the colorful lines, not mindful of the little white sparks landing on his hand and clothes while doing so, his voice whispering words he couldn’t comprehend or even hear clearly, his stance as stable as ever. 

“What are you-”

“Try not to talk for the moment, alright?” He turned quickly, resting a fingertip on where he thought his lips were. He almost guessed correctly, since it ended up solely on his lower lip, right next to a scar. “Your injuries are deep. Sleep if you can.”

An angry huff came from Iwaizumi, obviously not happy about the fact he had to entrust his life to a man he didn’t even know. “I don’t-”

“Sleep.” He pushed him against the wall as softly as humanly possible, his voice flebile as the impertectible sound of a leaf in the wind. Iwaizumi wanted to listen to him, he wanted to finally lay down and sleep, but every instinct in his body screamed to get up and run as far away as possible, recollect his thoughts and come back whenever it was needed.

_ If he wanted to hurt you he wouldn’t put himself in so much danger _ , he had to remind himself and his body. That person wouldn’t be the one to kill him, for the simple reason that he didn’t want to. He didn’t know why, since he tried to kill him time and time again, but those were the simple facts. He didn’t kill people, he refused to, he saw the proof of that when they met every single time.

He was a good person. He could trust him, just this once.

The man put a hand on his shoulder and brought him back to reality, slightly rubbing against the fabric of his clothes with his thumb. “I’ll be here if you need anything.”

That made it. The warm, inherently kind tone in his voice ultimately convinced Iwaizumi to let everything go and concede himself some rest. He even felt himself drifting off to sleep, as a warm light brought him comfort down to his very bones. He still didn’t know if the warmth on his shoulder was a consequence of whatever just happened or if the man with him was still making sure he was okay, but it was a feeling that, for the first time in years, he wanted to remember.

\---

A hand.

There was a hand on his shoulder, trying to keep him stable and pinned to… a bed? Couch? It was soft, and his leg hung off of it, so he certainly wasn't on the floor. He doesn't remember much, but his main concern was the hand on his shoulder.

His mind went through every possible scenario, from being rescued by Oikawa to being kidnapped by the Yakuza, but all doubts faded when he heard the voice of the person with him.

“Please don't shoot me again.”

Iwaizumi looked up, forcing his tired eyes to stay open and focus, not to give up on him right now, because he had to be sure it was him. Greeting his gaze was a gentle, round and slightly tanned face, staring back at him with dark brown eyes.

If he didn't know any better, he'd think that he was a pretty friendly and kind person, but he still had sore muscles because that man liked so much to hit him all in the wrong spots.

Wrong for him, obviously, but they were the best points to hit in order to bring someone to the ground.

Iwaizumi snorted, shifting a bit to feel more comfortable on what had to be his couch. Not that any position was better than the other, every single part of his body still hurt like hell. “Why am I here?”

“You had some pretty bad injuries, so I took the time to heal you.” He answered as if it was the most logical thing to do. 

_ It was _ , Iwaizumi thought, not really remembering much apart from the fucking mutant plant that wanted to eat them. He didn't even know how far away the graffiti- which he remembered because, again, what the fuck- brought them, or if that place was too far away from his house. In any way, he had to physically drag him there, which, in his opinion, was still pretty incredible, given how heavier he was compared to him.

As he kept his gaze on the man's deep brown eyes, he realized that, if he could see his face, then the thing was mutual. His immediate reaction was to close his eyes and let out a sigh, but his mind worked faster this time, and he asked instead. “Is my face-”

“Yeah.” The man came closer, sitting beside him, on the floor, and smiled up at him. “I won't ask about it, if that makes you feel better.”

“It really doesn't.”

“So, you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“That's alright.” He smiled, crossing his legs and looking at him with the most playful eyes he's ever seen in a situation like that. “In fact, I have so many more questions about you, mystery man that beats me up just to heal me ten minutes later.”

Oh, great. They had to have  _ that  _ talk.

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes and let out a groan, obviously annoyed. As a response, he heard the other laugh warmly, genuinely enjoying the situation. He stopped after a few seconds, looking at the wounded man on his couch with a smile way too relaxed for Iwaizumi’s liking.

“I just thought that it would have been dangerous if I left you on that roof.”

“How kind of you to bring me all the way to my ex's clinic.”

Of fucking course that doctor was his ex. For the whole time Iwaizumi was there, he looked at him as if it was made of precious porcelain and he touched his skin like he was afraid to break it in a thousand pieces.

He also asked him to be his friend. Iwaizumi remembered that part of the discussion too, even if it made very little sense in his eyes. How could he be his friend when he tried to kill him so many times? Was he really that forgiving?

The snap of two fingers in front of his face brought him back to reality. Looking up, he saw his face more clearly than before, even noticing a couple of tiny, fading scars on his jawbone and the bridge of his nose. He had a quite visible starway of freckles that travelled from his left cheek, just below the eye, to his nose, to his right cheek. There weren’t that many and they weren’t very pronounced, just little, slightly tanner spots than his skin spread all over his face.

The man raised an eyebrow, probably trying to understand what he was thinking about, since he still didn’t speak a word to him. Iwaizumi waved a hand, letting him know everything was fine.

He smiled, before sitting back on the floor, right next to him. It was clear he wanted to talk about something, given the fact that he was keeping him awake and focused. Iwaizumi didn’t know what exactly, since they ran into each other way too many times and there were too many things he could be wanting to know, but he didn’t really care at this point. For some reason, he saved him three or four times already, let him into his house, took care of his injuries and let him see his face.

He trusted him enough to explain a couple of things after he tried to kill him as many times as he did.

“Your face?” 

“No.”

That was the only topic he wasn’t really ready to talk about with anyone besides Oikawa, and that was just because he asked about it every now and then. Describing what his face felt like was a different kind of pain compared to his childhood, teenage years, motivations, upbringing and everything else about him. For how much he told everyone it was in the past, it just hurt too much.

He expected the man to pressure him, to ask why he didn’t want to talk about it like everyone did- it was his face after all, it’s not like they didn’t see it already- and to throw a fit when Iwaizumi refused to, but he changed topic instead. 

“Traumatic past? Reason why you kill? Picking up our discussion from where we left it off before you knocked me out?”

Oh.

That’s what he wanted to talk about, then.

Iwaizumi remained in silence for a while, not really sure what to say. He was convinced he didn’t get it, that he condemned his ideology and what he thought, but he also said he wanted to talk about it. If he just thought he was wrong, he wouldn’t have done so many sacrifices, like following him whenever he went, saving him when he was about to die and giving him a place to rest.

So, he was willing to hear him out.

The man sighed through a half smile after he understood that he had to be the first to talk and explain, before turning serious again. “My stepfather liked to beat my mom,” he started, not even watching Iwaizumi’s confused expression, “he ultimately killed her in front of me. If someone like you took him out before he could do that… I'd probably see them as a hero.”

Silence paved its way between them for a few seconds, Iwaizumi analyzing what he just heard at the best of his ability, not really understanding if he was admitting he was right to kill those people or if he just understood him and didn’t necessarily agree with him and his methods.

For some reason, he felt like that man really understood why he did what he did, but he didn’t have the sheer strength to do it himself. Iwaizumi had to ignore the thought suggesting him he was weak, because he knew that wasn’t really the truth. If he was weak, he’d just ignore the injustice that engulfed the city like a particular nasty infection and live his life.

He could do that, but he decided to risk his life to put an end to it, or, at the very least, trying to reduce it. Anyone who decided to do everything that came with the job simply needed an incredible amount of strength to pull it off.

“I'm sorry.” Iwaizumi whispered, not really knowing what else to say.

The man smiled, moving his hand in front of his face. “Don't worry about it. It's over anyway.”

“That doesn't make it fair.”

“It doesn't. But we have to keep living, right?”

Iwaizumi nodded and looked to the ceiling, deep in his thoughts again for a second. “My parents were killed too.” He turned, watching as the other man’s face changed his serious expression into a curious one. “Something about two rival gangs fighting and we were in the middle of it. I was the only one to make it out alive.”

He looked straight at him, genuine sorrowful eyes following the trail to Iwaizumi’s, clearly tired and full of pain. “I'm sorry.” His voice was warm and calm, somehow deep and soft at the same time, like a warm hug after returning home soaked wet from a particularly strong rain.

It was something that Iwaizumi still had to decide whether or not it was a feeling he liked, and that always made him incredibly annoyed.

This time, though, he tried to keep in whatever feeling he was letting himself show, for the good of the conversation, which was actually pleasing. Instead, he tried to keep it going, making up his mind about the man in front of him. “Did you make the orphanage journey?” 

“Oh, yeah. I stayed in one for about two years, then a friend's family adopted me.” He looked at him, curious and honest. He didn’t even know why he was that honest with him, it didn’t make sense, but he was, he could feel it in his voice and see it in his eyes.

It still bewildered him.

It made his skin crawl, every time he showed just how genuine, kind and honest he could be, even with someone who not only he didn’t know, but tried to kill him too. It was something he didn’t understand, no matter how hard he tried. People can use others, and that’s the case most of the time, trusting someone you didn’t even know like that was… utterly and completely terrifying.

Iwaizumi sighed and closed his eyes for a fraction of second, thinking about what he should do, if replying to him was a good idea or not. Every bone in his body told him to jerk away and run, end the conversation, make him stay silent until he fell asleep again, but he hesitated. Something else, different from his pride or instinct was screaming to give him a chance.

_ Be his friend. _

The doctor's words were still engraved in his brain, making it difficult to make a rational decision, the one that was best for him, the one that protected him and his family.

_ Fucking hell _ , he mentally cursed himself, before looking at the other man again. He was still there, still waiting, still curious, still incredibly patient. Iwaizumi didn't even know for how much time he thought about all that, but he left him the space he needed, and that was… new. Refreshing.

It felt incredibly good.

“I stayed there for about nine years,” he finally explained, ignoring a weird noise banging in his brain to get back now that he still could, “then an explosion occurred and I ran away with my friends. We were fourteen, so we got in some bad circles to get money. We ran from that too when a couple of us were of age, had fake identities for a decade and all. Things happened and here I am.”

As he listened, the man had a warm, relaxed smile on his face, as if he was listening to some fairy tale he listened to over and over again. Iwaizumi couldn't decide if he should have been offended or sorry about it. On one hand, it annoyed the shit out of him, but on the other it meant that he was used to those stories. If the latter was true, then he was used to hearing about people suffering more pain than what was humanly possible, but he didn't really want to think about it.

He ultimately decided to just wait for his answer and then decide.

“You have a really good aim.” The man said, completely changing the topic. Iwaizumi didn't know if it was for him or just because he felt like it, but he was kind of glad he did. At least, now he could stop thinking too much about him.

“You said that already.”

“How did you get that good?”

“Practice and a bit of luck. You got insane moves too.”

“I was trained, I did parkour for more than twenty years, I love gymnastics.” The man shrugged, as if that wasn't a big deal- and it probably wasn't, for him, but he could only imagine how much dedication a sport like that required.

Iwaizumi was about to say exactly that, but his thoughts were interrupted by a small weight that suddenly made itself a way onto his chest. He looked down, smiling slightly when he was greeted by a pair of eyes colored differently, one orange and one as blue as the clear sky. “Hey, there.” He whispered, calmly letting it sniff his fingers and wait for the approval to start petting its head.

“That's Yuki.” It was the warmest, most loving tone Iwaizumi ever heard, so much that he turned towards the man, who was getting closer to pet the cat on its back. It was obvious to even him how much he loved that little animal. He turned towards the man on the couch, looking at him with an apologizing gaze. “She's a bit cuddly, but if she brings you any discomfort-”

“She really doesn't.” Iwaizumi interrupted him, starting to pet her on her head, as soft as he could. “So, what's your name?” He asked, without even raising his eyes off the cat. 

“What?”

“What's your name?”

“Why should I tell you my name?”

“We already saw each other's faces and shared our tragic backstory, telling me your name won’t be much of a damage now.”

He stopped petting the cat, keeping his hand just a few centimeters above her back, his eyes locked with Iwaizumi’s own, this time sheer doubt in them, instead of the usual warm he showed. The other man asked himself if his eyes ever got darker than that, more pained, more aggressive, more terrifying. He couldn’t just be a good guy, right?

The man bit his lower lip, and lowered his stare, probably thinking about the better option. Iwaizumi wouldn’t force him to give him his name, but they were already in that situation anyway, so it really didn’t make much of a difference. He’d just have a name to connect to the face, that’s all. 

“Sawamura Daichi.” He whispered, before looking at him again. “Just call me Daichi, since everyone does.” Daichi relaxed, slightly tilting his head to the side, eyes curious as he left the obvious question linger in the air.

Iwaizumi sighed, watching him with slightly softer eyes, maybe from the fact that the cat started to purr. “Iwaizumi Hajime.” He gulped, just then realizing that his throat was too sore for his liking, something that most certainly had to do with the loss of blood and the amount of time he was asleep. “Do you have any water by chance?”

“Yeah, hold on.” Daichi got up, quickly grabbing a glass, filling it with water and giving it to Iwaizumi, waiting for him to sit up. The injuries were far from healed and Yuki didn’t really want to move from the comfortable spot she found on the man, so it took them a while to complete the action.

“Thanks.” Iwaizumi said weakly after he finished drinking, not really satisfied with the quantity of the water he was given, but he didn’t ask for more. He was already causing too many problems as it was.

That is, until Daichi fills his glass again with the water bottle in his hand.

Iwaizumi didn’t really ask many questions, and drank the second glass, and then an eventual third, thanking everything he believed in- so, not much, really- that this man was so forgiving and full of kindness that he didn’t even know where he stored it.

“You can sleep here tonight, if you want.” He said, as he sat down again, the bottle still in his hands, with enough water for a fourth glass if Iwaizumi ever needed it.

He huffed, rolling his eyes like it was something he was forced to do. In a way he was, but he hated asking for help to people he didn’t really know, for many different reasons. “It's not like I have any other place at the moment.”

“You don't?”

“My neighbors were concerned of the smell of blood coming from my room and the face scared them off, so the landlord kicked me out the first time I skipped the payment.”

“You can stay here as long as you want, then.”

Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow, visibly confused. “I tried to kill you. Twice.”

“My ex tried to kill me too before we started dating. Trying to kill me isn't something I take as a deal breaker.” He smiled, as if it was something normal for him, talking about people who tried so obviously to kill him. Maybe he was, maybe that was how he got close to other people, just like the doctor at the clinic told Iwaizumi.

Who even was this guy?

Everything he did was something in the service of others, like a plant giving oxygen for everyone else and then, during the night, when everyone else survived through the day, starting to breathe as well. It was incomprehensible for him, just how much he could give to everyone else, both on and off the battlefield.

“Thanks.” He whispered, not able to think about anything else. “I'll try not to kill you the next time.”

“Why, thank you for your consideration.” Daichi laughed, standing up and giving him the rest of the water, just in case. Iwaizumi drank it in a heartbeat, still feeling the thirst from before kicking in again. He felt the cat climb on him again, searching for cuddles again, and then something land next to the couch.

Iwaizumi lowered his head to check what they were, just to discover there were sheets and covers he could use to sleep and keep himself warm in the process. Giving a guest somewhere warm to sleep was something basic, he knew that, but he somehow didn’t expect it.

He was pretty pleased at the thought of sleeping in a warm, comfortable place, though.

“Make sure you sleep a bit.” Daichi said, crouching next to him, just besides the covers he threw at him. “If you can't, play with Yuki or come to my room if I'm still awake.”

“You really should sleep too.” Iwaizumi looked at him with slight surprise, not expecting someone that looked so caring and responsible to avoid sleeping. Maybe, he thought, he couldn’t or he had his own inner demons to deal with. Everyone did, after all.

As a response, he laughed with his usual, warm intonation, and it felt like a warm fire lit up in front of him on a cold winter day. It was different from Oikawa’s fire, it was more… affectionate. Loving. Caring. Safe. “How cute, you're concerned about me.” 

Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow, huffing. He probably pouted too, but if he didn’t recognize it happened, then it probably didn’t. So, he didn’t pout. “I wouldn't like to know someone killed you because you were too tired, you know. I don't have money to maintain this place or your cat.”

“Got it.” Daichi nodded, before petting Yuki’s head, softly and caringly, and giving her a kiss on her shoulder, somewhere she didn’t try to run away from. Iwaizumi found himself smiling at the scene, still trying to understand just how much love this man can store in his body. Every action he did, every word he let out of his mouth, everything just screamed love and care. How did he even end up being a vigilante that efficient was out of his understanding.

He stood up and headed to bed, smiling and waving at Iwaizumi. “Goodnight.”

The other man watched him for a while, before waving too, not really thinking it through. He just didn’t have the strength to. “‘Night.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was a concept sitting in my head for quite some time, so here we go! The updates will be very slow and I'll be explaining every little thing regarding their past and how magic and vigilantes work as we go, but I do hope you'll like this fic ^^


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